EiT  NOT  MAN  PUT  ASUNDER" 
IS  THE  TENTH   OF  TWELVE  AMER 
ICAN      NOVELS      TO       BE       PUBLISHED       BY 
HARPER&  BROTHERS  DURING  igOI,  WRITTEN 
FOR    THE    MOST    PART    BY    NEW    AMERICAN 
WRITERS,   AND   DEALING  WITH   DIFFERENT 
PHASES  OF  CONTEMPORARY  AMERICAN  LIFE. 
ALREADY  PUBLISHED 

"EASTOVER  COURT  HOUSE."  By  HENRY 
BURNHAM  BOONE  and  KENNETH  BROWN. 

"THE  SENTIMENTALISTS."  By  ARTHUR 
STANWOOD  PIER. 

"MARTIN   BROOK."     By  MORGAN  BATES. 

"A  VICTIM  OF  CIRCUMSTANCES."  By 
GERALDINE  ANTHONY. 

"DAYS    LIKE    THESE."     By    EDWARD  W. 

TOWNSEND. 

"WESTERFELT."     By  WILL  N.  HARBEN. 
"THE   MANAGER  OF  THE  B  &  A."     By 

VAUGHAN  KESTER. 
"  THE    SUPREME     SURRENDER."      By 

A.  MAURICE  Low. 
"THE    STRENGTH    OF    THE    HILLS." 

By  FLORENCE  WILKINSON. 


NOT    MAN 
PUT   ASUNDER 


By 

Basil  King 


"For  it  so  falls  out, 

That  what  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth, 
Whiles  we  enjoy  it;   but  being  lack'd  and  lost, 
Why,  then  we  rack  the  value;   then  we  find 
The  virtue,  that  possession  would  not  show  us 
Whiles  it  was  ours." 

— MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


New  York  and  London 

Harper  &  Brothers   Publishers 
1901 


Copyright,  1901,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 
All  rights  reserved. 


part  fl 


Let  Not  Man  Put  Asunder 


CHAPTER   I 

As  Petrina  entered  the  room  she  was  reading  a  let 
ter. 

"It  must  be  interesting/'  thought  Mrs.  Faneuil,  look 
ing  up  from  the  paper,  "  she  is  so  absorbed." 

"Good-morning,  Petrina." 

"Good-morning,  mamma,"  the  girl  responded,  ab 
sently.  She  kissed  her  stepmother,  and  then  took  her 
place  at  the  breakfast-table. 

"Any  news?"  Mrs.  Faneuil  asked,  as  she  began  to 
pour  the  coffee. 

"Yes.     I  have  a  letter  from  Emmy  de  Bohun." 

"With  the  latest  intelligence  from  the  seat  of  war,  I 
suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  passing  Petrina  her  cup. 

"Active  hostilities  seem  to  be  suspended  for  the  mo 
ment." 

"It  is  only  a  truce,  I  presume." 

"  Apparently  the  strife  is  passing  into  another  phase," 
said  Petrina,  helping  herself  to  honey.  "She  and  Sir 
Humphrey  have  separated." 

"That's  bad  news.  Their  union  was  so  entertain 
ing.  There  was  a  drawing-room  comedy  air  about  the 
life  at  Orpington  Park  which  we  shall  miss  in  our  future 
visits  to  England.  One  felt  there  as  if  one  was  not  only 
at  the  theatre,  but  on  the  stage." 

3 


Let   Not  Man    Put    Asunder 

"  But  I  never  thought  it  would  come  to  this. " 
"  I  never  thought  it  would  come  to  anything  else.     A 
husband  and  wife  who  protest  that  they  don't  love  each 
other  are  going  in  one  sure  direction." 
"  But  it  seemed  in  fun/' 

"  A  sort  of  fun  that  is  likely  to  turn  into  earnest." 
"But  Emmy  was  fond  of  him — " 
"Once,  undoubtedly;  and  he  of  her.     But  the  cares 
of  this  world,  and  the  deceitfulness  of  riches,  and  the 
lusts  of  other  things  entering  in  have  choked  their  love. 
It  has  not  become  precisely  unfruitful,  for  they  have 
three  children.     Emmy  doesn't  say  what  is  to  become 
of  them  in  the  dividing  of  the  inheritance?" 

"Yes,  she  does.  Here  is  what  she  writes:  'I  have 
deferred  this  step,  dear  Petrina,  until  Tristram  should 
be  old  enough  to  go  to  Eton.  That  takes  care  of  him ; 
for  what  with  school  and  college,  and  then  the  army  or 
the  navy,  a  boy  has  no  need  of  a  home  after  he  has 
reached  Tristram's  age.  Hippolyta  is  going  to  her 
grandmother.  Of  course  I  shall  miss  her,  but  the  dow 
ager  is  wild  to  have  her.  Then  she  is  such  a  strange 
girl!  She  doesn't  understand  me,  and  now  that  she  is 
seventeen  she  begins  to  act  for  herself  in  a  way  which 
puzzles  me.  The  baby  I  mean  to  keep,  at  least  for  the 
present — that  is,  if  Humphrey  won't  take  him.  He 
threatens  to  do  so,  and,  if  he  insists,  I  shall  let  him.  He 
has  already  broken  my  heart.  One  sorrow  more  or  less 
in  such  a  load  as  mine  would  count  for  little. ' ' 

"With  most  people  a  baby  counts  for  a  good  deal," 
said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  dryly. 

"Emmy  never  had  much  of  the  maternal  sense." 
"She  never  had  much  sense  of  any  kind." 
"She  is  certainly  very  clever,  mamma." 
"Clever?     Yes,  perhaps.     But  cleverness  and  com 
mon-sense  are  two  very  different  things,  my  dear." 

4 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Petrina  let  the  subject  drop  for  a  while,  and  went  on 
with  her  breakfast  in  silence. 

"It  is  very  annoying  to  us,"  she  said  at  last,  "that 
this  should  happen  now." 

"Why  annoying?  and  why  now?"  asked  Mrs.  Fan- 
euil,  as  she  tapped  her  egg  with  a  spoon. 

"Because,"  said  Petrina,  calmly,  "I  am  going  to 
marry  Emmy's  brother." 

Mrs.  Faneuil  dropped  her  spoon  with  a  little  gasp. 

"Petrina!" 

"  Yes,  mother.  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind.  And 
I  detest  separations  and  divorces.  They  are  in  such 
bad  taste." 

"You  are  going  to  marry  Henry  Vassall?  Is  that 
what  you  mean?" 

"  That  is  what  I  mean,  mamma.  I  see  no  great  rea 
son  for  your  surprise." 

"I  am  certainly  obliged  to  you  for  taking  me  into 
your  confidence  before — before  the  match  came  off." 

"Don't  be  vexed.  You  are  the  first  to  know.  I 
have  never  spoken  to  any  one  about  it — not  even  to 
him." 

"  Not  even  to  him?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  has 
not  yet — ?" 

"No,  not  yet;  but  of  course  I  see  it  coming." 

"You  seem  very  sure.  Isn't  it  possible  you  may  be 
mistaken?" 

"Oh,  mamma,  you  talk  as  if  you  never  had  been 
young.  Don't  you  suppose  that  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
three,  and  with  all  my  experience,  I  cannot  read  the 
signs  of  the  times?" 

"  I  had  forgotten  that  you  were  so  astute. " 

"  It  isn't  astuteness,  it  is  only  instinct. " 

"  Everybody  would  say  you  were  making  a  very  bad 
match." 

5 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"  But  I  am  not  marrying  to  please  everybody.  I  find 
it  sufficiently  hard  to  please  myself." 

"True,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  and  again  for  a  few  min 
utes  both  were  silent. 

They  were  in  the  large  bow-fronted  dining-room  at 
Faneuil  Hill.  Before  them  stretched  a  wide  prospect 
of  woodland,  lake,  and  mountain.  As  one  gazed  out 
ward  one  thought  of  the  Tyrol,  of  the  Schwartzwald, 
or  of  the  English  lakes ;  but  one  knew  that  such  purity 
of  air,  such  height  of  sky,  such  virgin  freshness  of  forest 
life  and  landscape  were  essentially  of  New  Hampshire. 

Ashuelot  is  not  in  the  White  Mountains ;  it  is  among 
those  numberless,  unnamed  hills  that  ripple  away  from 
the  foot  of  Mount  Majestic,  and  form  that  corner  of 
New  Hampshire  thrust  in  between  Massachusetts  and 
Vermont.  When  Petrina's  grandfather  had  bought  the 
hill,  to  which  the  country  people  had  given  his  name, 
Ashuelot  was  a  township  of  widely  scattered  farmers, 
sturdily  trying  to  wring  a  living  out  of  the  flinty  soil. 
But  among  the  New  Hampshire  hills  Mother  Erda  is  in 
one  of  her  capricious  moods.  She  is  ready  to  charm 
man  with  her  beauty,  but  not  to  give  him  bread.  She 
subjects  him  to  her  own  spell,  but  will  not  bend  to  his. 

"  These  are  not  the  wooers  whom  I  seek,"  she  seemed 
to  say,  as  the  patient  toilers  flung  themselves,  year 
after  year,  against  her  pitiless  breast.  "  There  are  other 
lands  for  them  to  till.  Let  them  go  elsewhere.  It  is 
not  for  these  that  I  have  come  up  from  the  formless  void 
and  waited  through  centuries  of  calm." 

"Lo,  this  one  is  mine!"  she  might  have  cried  when, 
sixty  years  before  Petrina's  birth,  young  Peter  Faneuil, 
after  breaking  through  the  thicket,  first  came  out  upon 
the  hill  that  from  his  very  feet  swept  downward  to  the 
lower  landscape,  as  some  great  headland  sweeps  tow 
ards  the  sea. 

6 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

"Glorious  God!"  the  young  man  had  gasped,  his 
breath  caught,  his  heart  startled,  by  the  sudden  splen 
dor  of  the  vision. 

Far  below,  at  the  foot  of  the  great  wooded  bluff  on 
which  he  stood,  a  lake,  irregular  in  form,  indented  in 
shore-line,  and  fringed  by  the  forest,  lay  sparkling  in 
unspeakable  purity.  To  the  south  the  low  hills  rose 
singly,  brokenly,  each  trying  to  climb  higher  than  the 
last,  till,  with  one  mighty  heave,  Majestic  raised  his 
gigantic  shoulder,  wooded  right  up  to  its  highest  granite 
ridge.  To  the  west  and  to  the  north  the  billowy  hills 
rolled  onward  into  the  horizon  —  tier  rising  beyond 
tier,  chain  interlacing  chain,  crest  soaring  above  crest, 
valley  traversing  valley,  and  glen  springing  out  of 
gorge.  Here  and  there,  held  in  the  folds  of  loving  hills, 
little  lakes  glinted  with  the  glimmer  of  silver;  while 
unseen  rivulets  could  be  heard  forcing  their  way  through 
fern  and  over  crags  on  their  long  journey  to  the  sea. 
High  above,  the  noonday  summer  sun  had  dispelled 
every  trace  of  cloud  from  the  sky,  every  shred  of  vapor 
from  the  mountain -side,  every  veil  of  haze  from  the 
serried  ranks  of  hills;  the  far  seemed  near;  the  near 
seemed  at  one's  feet;  but  no  brightness  of  light  nor 
closeness  of  scrutiny  could  make  the  primal  freshness 
of  that  view  less  inviolably  pure. 

Peter  Faneuil  was  a  young  Boston  merchant,  stal 
wart,  stolid,  and  a  Puritan  to  the  heart's  core;  but 
there  was  in  him  some  strain  other  than  that  of  aptness 
for  the  counting-house.  As  he  stood  with  feasting 
eyes,  dilating  nostrils,  and  spirit  exulting  in  the  sight 
of  earth  and  sky,  he  lifted  his  arms  heavenward  and 
cried  aloud,  out  into  the  reaches  of  that  vast  solitude : 

"Glorious  God!     0  glorious  God!" 

There  was  no  response  but  in  the  myriad  voices  of 
forest  life;  but  Mother  Erda — she  who  had  been  pres- 

7 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

ent  when  Titanic  forces  first  flung  up  those  hills  out  of 
the  world's  abysmal  womb — she  who  had  hardened 
them  into  beauty,  clothed  them  with  tree  and  fern  and 
flower,  and  waited  for  the  eyes  of  man — might  well 
have  cried:  "Lo,  this  one  at  last  is  mine!  This  is  no 
delver.  This  is  no  reaper.  This  is  no  dullard  seeking 
for  bread  and  finding  a  stone.  This  is  my  lover  for 
whom  I  have  waited  and  to  whom  I  will  reveal  myself. 
He  is  the  first-fruits.  After  centuries  that  man  cannot 
count  he  has  come,  and  others  will  follow  in  his  foot 
steps." 

So  Peter  Faneuil  bought  the  hill,  the  country  people 
wondering  why.  From  time  to  time  in  after-life  he 
found  his  way  back  again  to  the  spot  where  his  heart 
had  first  leaped  at  the  call  of  Nature.  It  was  his  dream 
to  make  himself  a  home  on  this  bold  inland  bluff;  but, 
like  David  with  the  Temple,  that  task  was  for  his  son 
and  not  for  him. 

The  next  Peter  Faneuil  had  built  the  large,  square 
brick  house,  to  which  his  second  wife  had  given  a  touch 
of  modern  luxury  and  beauty.  This  was  before  the 
days  of  pretty  wooden  cottages  perched  on  every  rocky 
cape  or  pleasant  country  knoll.  It  was  before  the  days 
when  every  prosperous  citizen  thought  it  necessary  to 
have  not  only  a  house  for  work,  but  also  one  for  play. 
There  was  nothing  bizarre  about  the  plain  brick  dwell 
ing  on  Faneuil  Hill.  It  was  simple,  solid,  and  spacious, 
built  as  a  place  to  live  in,  and  not  merely  as  a  shelter 
from  the  summer's  heat  or  as  a  refuge  from  a  life  of 
labor. 

It  was  the  second  Mrs.  Faneuil,  now  at  breakfast 
with  Petrina,  whose  taste  had  clothed  the  bare  brick 
walls  with  climbing  vines  and  relieved  the  monotonous 
lines  with  balconies,  bow- windows,  and  Verandas.  The 
result  was  a  loss  of  stately  New  England  simplicity, 

8 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

but  a  gain  in  picturesque  effect.  As  one  looked  at  the 
old  house  in  its  new  aspect  one  felt  the  existence  of  a 
change  not  only  in  taste  but  in  manner  of  life.  Sim 
plicity  had  yielded  to  complexity,  severity  to  elabora 
tion.  The  New  England  foundation  was  still  there, 
but  much  that  was  new  had  been  built  thereon.  The 
spirit  which  had  urged  the  Bradfords  out  of  England 
and  the  Faneuils  out  of  France  was  still  alive,  but  grown 
sophisticated  and  self  -  conscious ;  not  less  eager  and 
morally  ambitious,  but  seeking  its  ideals  in  more  dar 
ing  ways.  Between  the  Faneuil  Hill  of  the  moment 
and  that  of  thirty  years  before  there  was  the  same  dif 
ference  of  life  and  thought  and  spiritual  standards  as 
between  Petrina  and  the  father  who  had  built  the  house, 
or  the  grandfather  who  had  first  stood  upon  the  spot, 
or  any  other  of  the  line  of  quiet  Boston  merchants  from 
whom  she  sprang. 

The  same  difference  was  manifest  in  all  the  township 
of  Ashuelot.  Great  Erda  had  had  her  way.  The 
delver  and  the  reaper  had  gone.  Their  sons  were  win 
ning  among  men  —  in  law,  commerce,  and  finance  — 
the  living  they  could  not  wring  from  the  New  Hamp 
shire  hills  where  they  were  born.  Their  places  had 
been  taken  by  those  who  had  come,  like  young  Peter 
Faneuil,  to  seek  from  Nature  not  her  substance  but  her 
soul.  Little  by  little  Ashuelot  had  been  discovered  by 
the  rich,  the  tired,  the  leisured,  and  the  lovers  of  the 
clean,  cool  woods,  the  wine-like  air,  and  the  green  per 
petual  hills.  The  pretty  wooden  cottage  was  now 
everywhere;  it  was  of  every  size  and  form  and  degree 
of  beauty,  from  hut  to  hall,  from  Doric  palace  to  Italian 
villa,  from  colonial  mansion  to  the  many-gabled,  many- 
columned,  many-colored,  rambling  dwelling  of  the  style 
that  architects  call  Queen  Anne. 

All  this  was  evident  from  the  semi-open  room  where 

9 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

Petrina  and  her  stepmother  sat  at  breakfast.  Their 
little  table  was  placed  in  a  large  bow-shaped  embrasure, 
which  Mrs.  Faneuil  had  so  cleverly  contrived  that  all 
the  lower  part  of  the  great  window  could  be  lifted  up 
ward.  In  fine  weather  they  could  thus  breakfast  and 
lunch  in  the  open  air.  A  larger  table  held  the  centre 
of  the  room;  and  the  walls  were  hung  with  fine  old 
prints,  brought  back  by  Petrina 's  grandfather  and 
great-grandfather  from  their  European  travels  in  the 
days  when  photographs  were  unknown.  The  table 
was  spread  with  silver  of  the  Georgian  era,  each  piece 
engraved  with  the  Faneuil  arms.  The  porcelain  was 
of  Sevres,  part  of  the  service  presented  to  one  of  the 
Peter  Faneuils  when  minister  to  France.  In  any 
other  house  these  things  would  have  been  kept  in  cab 
inets  as  objects  of  beauty;  but  Petrina  would  be 
served  only  from  the  best.  She  would  rather  have 
them  broken  than  not  used,  she  said,  with  the  reck 
lessness  of  a  young  princess  who  has  not  yet  learned 
to  economize  her  heritage. 

Mrs.  Faneuil,  in  her  capacity  of  stepmother,  had 
made  it  a  point,  since  Petrina 's  majority,  to  leave  the 
girl  as  free  as  possible.  "It  was  the  secret  of  getting 
on  with  her,"  she  said,  and  she  was  right. 

"You  must  not  think  that  I  am  opposed  to  your 
choice,"  she  said,  after  a  long  pause,  "but  you  will  own 
that  it  is  unexpected." 

"  The  merely  expected  in  one's  selection  of  a  husband 
would  be  rather  dull,"  said  Petrina,  as  she  sipped  her 
coffee. 

"That  is  just  what  strikes  me  about  Mr.  Vassall." 

"I  find  it  one  of  his  attractions.  You  may  think 
him  dull.  I  call  him  only  unobtrusive.  I  should  hate 
a  man  who  was  always  putting  himself  in  the  fore 
ground." 

10 


Let   Not  'Man   Put   Asunder 

"You  reserve  that  field  for  yourself." 

"I  should  naturally  want  my  proper  place." 

"Which  would  be  in  front,  I  presume/' 

"I  like  your  sarcasm,  mother  dear.  It  helps  one  to 
see  the  weak  joints  in  one's  harness.  But  I  don't  want 
you  to  think  me  wholly  selfish. " 

"No,  of  course  not.     Only  independent." 

"  Only  free  to  lead  my  own  life  according  to  my  own 
ideas."' 

"After  marriage  as  much  as  before?" 

"More  than  before.  A  married  woman  is  so  much 
freer — " 

"  C'est  selon.  Your  poor  father  didn't  allow  me  much 
freedom." 

Petrina  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders. 

"  But  that  was  in — "  she  began. 

"The  Dark  Ages,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  promptly. 
"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  young  people  think — that  you 
are  wiser  than  the  aged,  and  have  more  understanding 
than  your  teachers.  You  talk  as  if  love  and  marriage 
were  unknown  things  when  you  discovered  them — as 
if  you  were  the  first  that  ever  burst  into  that  silent  sea. 
Don't  begin  playing  with  fire,  Petrina,  my  child ;  don't 
make  rash  experiments  with  gunpowder." 

"And  don't  mix  your  metaphors,  mamma." 

"I  shall  if  I  please.  Mixed  metaphors  are  less  dan 
gerous  than  mixed  ideas  on  grave  subjects." 

"But  who  thinks  of  danger?  I  don't  see  why  the 
question  should  be  raised." 

"It  raises  itself,  my  dear.  Even  with  the  most  un 
obtrusive  man  there  are  moments  when  he  must  be  the 
head  of  his  own  household ;  and  then  all  your  theories 
of  freedom — " 

"I  have  no  theories.  In  what  I  do  I  should  never 
want  to  involve  any  one  but  myself." 

II 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"You  would  involve  your  husband,  however." 

"Naturally;  but  that  would  be  his  raison  d'etre." 

"  And  suppose  Mr.  Vassall  saw  things  from  another 
point  of  view?" 

"  One  drives  one's  steed  according  to  his  temper,  but 
one  always  guides  him  into  the  way  in  which  one  wants 
one's  self  to  go." 

"  If  that  is  your  idea,  Petrina,  my  child,  stay  single. 
Your  steed,  as  you  call  him,  is  very  likely  to  run  away 
with  you  and  smash  the  coach.  What  then?" 

"Oh,  then,"  Petrina  laughed,  "if  one  is  not  dead 
one  scrambles  to  one's  feet  again,  and  begins  retro 
spectively  to  enjoy  the  excitement." 

"You  are  incorrigible." 

"  No,  only  frank.  But,  to  change  the  subject  slight 
ly,  may  I  ask  if  you  had  any  other  views  for  me,  mam 
ma?" 

"I?  Jamais  de  la  vie.  I  should  never  venture  to 
have  views  for  you,  Petrina.  You  have  far  too  many 
of  your  own." 

"Or  hopes,  then?" 

"Hopes,  perhaps." 

"And  may  I  inquire — who?" 

"  Never  any  one  more  than  that  nice  Sir  George  Wal- 
lingford  at  Cannes." 

"But  I  always  told  you  it  was  out  of  the  question." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Still  I  have  never  been  above  think 
ing  that  Lady  Wallingford  had  a  good  deal  of  sonority. 
In  case  of  widowhood  it  would  be  Petrina  Lady  Wal 
lingford,  which  seems  to  suit  your  style.  Then  it  gives 
me  a  chance,  as  mother-in-law  to  a  title,  which  counts 
for  something  in  a  middle-aged  woman's  life.  I  have 
always  secretly  envied  Mrs.  Vassall  her  dignity  as 
mother  to  a  Lady  de  Bohun.  But  my  hopes  are  all 
dashed  now." 

12 


Let   Not   Man    Put    Asunder 

Mrs.  Faneuil  laughed,  but  Petrina  looked  serious. 

"I  could  never  marry  abroad,  mother.  I  am  a  New 
England  woman  through  and  through,  and  my  roots 
are  very  deep  in  the  soil.  I  dwell  among  mine  own 
people.  If  your  only  objection  to  Mr.  Vassall  is  that 
he  is  not  a  foreigner  and  hasn't  a  title — " 

"  I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  object,  Petrina.  I  limit  my 
self  to  surprise.  He  is  so  far  out  of  your  own  set." 

"I  should  never  choose  a  husband  who  was  in  it. 
Fancy  living  with  a  man  who  knew  only  the  people  you 
knew,  and  did  only  what  you  do  yourself!  As  it  is,  he 
would  have  his  sphere,  which  would  not  interfere  with 
mine.  He  is  a  good  rider,  a  good  golfer,  a  good  shot, 
and  very  popular  in  his  clubs.  He  would  have  plenty 
of  occupation  even  if  he  gave  up  his  profession." 

"  But  you  would  like  to  be  seen  with  him  sometimes?" 

"Whenever  mutually  agreeable." 

"That  is  kind/'  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  in  her  dry  way. 
"But  then  he  is  so  poor." 

"Surely  I  have  plenty.  And  think  what  it  would 
mean  to  me  if  he  were  rich.  I  should  have  to  live 
in  his  house,  and  adopt  his  habits,  and  accept  his 
money,  and  be  under  a  sort  of  obligation  to  please 
him.'' 

"  Which  would  naturally  be  out  of  the  question.  But 
I  wonder  how  far  he  would  share  your  ideas.  He  seems 
to  me  very  conservative,  while  no  one  could  call  you 
that." 

"  But  I  should  despise  a  man  who  was  not  conserva 
tive.  An  advanced  woman  is  in  the  order  of  things; 
she  is  daring,  original,  piquante.  But  an  advanced 
man!  Oh,  mother  dear!  I  should  ten  thousand  times 
rather  be  unequallv  yoked  together  with  an  unbe 
liever." 

"How  nicely  you  quote  Scripture!  It  reminds  me 

13 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

that  Mr.  Vassall  is  very  religious.  But,  of  course,  you 
might  break  him  of  that." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  want  to.  His  religion 
seems  to  be  part  of  him." 

"That  is,  perhaps,  true.  And  then  religion  is  so 
tolerated  now.  Professor  Pembury  told  me  the  other 
day  that  at  Harvard  it  didn't  count  against  a  man, 
even  in  the  best  and  most  intellectual  sets.  I  should 
only  fear  that  if  Mr.  Vassall  insisted  on  your  going  to 
his  church — " 

"I  did  go  once." 

"And—?" 

"I  was  rather  touched.  It  was  last  spring,  when  I 
first  began  to  know  him." 

"  Did  he  ask  you  to  go?" 

"No,  but  he  seemed  pleased  when  I  told  him  I  had 
gone." 

"What  a  curious  caprice  on  your  part!" 

"I  wanted  to  get  the  range  of  his  ideas.  We  had 
talked  about  a  lot  of  other  things,  in  which  I  could  un 
derstand  him.  But  here  I  seemed  to  be  outside.  In 
his  religion  he  was  in  a  world  to  which  I  had  no  key." 

"And  so  finding  the  door  open  you  went  in." 

"  I  looked  in  only.  I  was  within  the  church,  but  out 
side  the  ideas." 

"Yet  you  say  you  were  touched?" 

"Less  by  the  religion  than  by  his  part  in  it.  He 
seemed  so  simple  and  honest.  One  felt  the  presence 
of  something  not  only  sincere  in  his  belief  but  fearless 
in  his  attitude  towards  the  world."  , 

"What  a  strange  girl  you  are,  Petrina!  There  are 
times  when  you  seem  to  be  so  independent ;  and  then 
suddenly  you  lapse  into  the  conventional;  I  hesitate  to 
say  the  commonplace." 

"•Say  it,  if  you  like,  mamma.  For  me  nothing  is 

14 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

commonplace  that  I  choose  to  care  for,  nothing  is  con 
ventional  that  I  choose  to  do." 

"And  yet  you  cannot  be  without  principles,  Petrina." 

"  Certainly  not.     I  have  at  least  three. ' ' 

"Really?  So  many!  Would  it  be  discreet  to  ask 
what  they  are?" 

"First,  to  think  what  I  please;  second,  to  say  what 
I  please;  third,  to  do  what  I  please." 

"Coming  from  any  one  else  but  you,  the  declaration 
would  sound — " 

"  Odious,"  said  Petrina.     "  I  know." 

"I  was  going  to  say  selfish." 

"I  think  my  adjective  is  the  better  one." 

"Selfish  or  odious  as  you  will,  you  have  the  art  of 
being  either  with  good  taste.  You  are  inconsistent 
even  there." 

"  I  am  not  striving  to  be  consistent.  I  am  struggling 
only  to  keep  free." 

"  And  yet  with  this  as  your  object  you  think  of  marry 
ing  a  man  like  Henry  Vassall." 

"I  think  only  of  marrying  the  man  I  love." 

"Then  you  love  him?  I  was  wondering  whether  the 
word  would  come." 

"Certainly  I  love  him;  otherwise  I  should  not  think 
of  marriage." 

"  Then  how  do  you  propose  to  keep  so  free?" 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  the  fact  that  we  love  each  other 
involves  his  interference  with  my  life,  any  more  than 
mine  with  his." 

"Isn't  that  a  somewhat  original  view  of  the  situa 
tion?" 

"Perhaps.     I  don't  know.     In  any  case,  it  is  mine." 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence. 

"If  you  were  not  so  very  independent,"  said  Mrs. 
Faneuil,  breaking  the  pause,  "independent  in  means 

15 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

and  position  as  well  as  in  character,  I  should  attempt 
to  give  you  some  very  strong  advice." 

"  It  would  be  useless,  mother  dear.  I  am  not  one  of 
those  natures  who  ever  need  advice,  or  who  ever  take  it. 
You  know  that  I  don't  say  that  through  lack  of  affec 
tion." 

"  I  know,  dear  child.  And  yet  at  moments  like  this 
I  regret  that  I  am  not  your  own  mother." 

"I  like  the  situation  best  as  it  is.  If  you  were  my 
own  mother,  I  should  feel  obliged  to  yield  in  many 
things  in  which  we  are  now  each  independent  of  the 
other.  As  it  is,  we  are  good  friends,  and  yet  we  are 
both  free." 

There  was  another  pause,  which  was  also  broken  by 
Mrs.  Faneuil. 

"  I  think  you  said  Mr.  Vassall  was  coming  to  tea  this 
afternoon?" 

"  Yes ;  he  arrived  at  the  inn  last  night.  I  wrote  him 
that  he  might  come.  He  has  a  friend  with  him,  whom 
I  said  he  could  also  bring." 

"Who?" 

"A  Mr.  Lechmere.     One  of  the  Brookline  family." 

"The  only  Brookline  Lechmere  now  is  Dick." 

"That's  his  name.  Do  you  know  him?  He  lives 
abroad,  I  think." 

"I've  seen  a  good  deal  of  him  at  one  time  and  an 
other." 

"He's  a  great  friend  of  Harry's.  What  is  he  like? 
Is  he  nice?" 

"  He's  very  good  -  looking,  and  very  —  how  shall  I 
say? — very  mystical  and  dix-septieme  siecle.  He  looks 
like  a  Vandyke  Charles  I. ;  and  you  might  easily 
ascribe  to  him  all  the  virtues  which  the  Royalist 
loved,  as  well  as  all  the  weaknesses  the  Puritans 
hated." 

16 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"That  sounds  rather  interesting." 

"Yes,  he's  interesting,  if  it  is  interesting  to  be  like 
no  one  else.  I  should  say  his  friendship  might  be  rather 
dangerous — I  mean  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  dan 
gerous  to  travel  in  an  unknown  land  of  which  there  are 
no  maps  and  no  guide-books,  where  there  are  plenty  of 
spouting  volcanoes  and  fathomless  lakes,  and  noth 
ing  to  lead  anywhere.  Dick  is  a  compound  of  mag 
nificent  weakness  and  futile  strength.  When  I  knew 
him  I  never  could  be  quite  sure  whether  he  was  an 
apostate  saint  or  a  Tannhauser  seeking  for  redemp 
tion." 

"Harry  says  he  married  badly." 

"Yes — that  Madame  Felicia  de  Prony  who  made 
such  a  fiasco  at  the  opera  in  New  York  last  winter. 
She's  a  beautiful  woman,  and  Dick  was  mad  about  her. 
At  the  time  he  married  her,  three  or  four  years  ago, 
people  thought  she  was  going  to  be  another  Patti.  But 
I  believe  she  is  very  delicate,  and  hasn't  done  much, 
after  all.  I  heard  her  last  season  in  London — you  were 
at  Orpington  Park  at  the  time.  I  thought  her  voice 
had  gone  off  terribly,  though  she  was  still  exquisitely 
pretty.  She  has  one  of  those  pure  faces  which  would 
deceive  the  very  elect.  When  I  saw  her  it  was  just  after 
her  escapade  with  the  Due  de  Ruynes,  for  which  Dick 
got  his  divorce.  Poor  fellow!  I  wonder  if  his  experi 
ences  have  changed  him?" 

"You  will  have  a  chance  of  judging  this  afternoon." 

Petrina  rose  as  she  spoke  and  went  out  on  the  ve 
randa. 

She  was  very  tall,  and  carried  herself  with  an  air  of 
gentle  command.  Her  long  step  gave  to  her  move 
ments  something  of  almost  feline  gracefulness,  em 
phasized  by  her  soft,  trailing  robe. 

Mrs.  Faneuil,  still  seated  at  the  table,  took  up  again 

17 


-  , 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

the  morning  paper,  but  looked  out  at  Petrina.  The 
gaze  of  the  calm  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wooded  side  of 
Mount  Majestic  could  just  be  seen. 

''  I  wonder  what  is  behind  that  mask?"  the  stepmoth 
er  said  to  herself.    "  I  wonder  if  any  one  will  ever  know?" 


CHAPTER  II 

LATER  in  the  day  Mr.  Dick  Lechmere  was  asking 
himself  the  same  question:  "What  is  behind  that 
mask?" 

He  and  Petrina  were  together  on  the  veranda.  Tea 
was  over,  and  Mrs.  Faneuil  had  taken  Vassall  to  a  spot 
on  the  hill-side  where  the  view  was  specially  fine.  Pe 
trina  and  her  guest  sat  beside  the  disordered  tea-table, 
talking  as  people  do  who  have  frequented  the  same 
society,  seen  the  same  places,  and  done  the  same  things. 
But  there  was  already  something  more  in  their  conver 
sation.  There  was  a  note  of  sympathy,  a  sense  of  some 
thing  held  in  common. 

"This  man,"  said  Petrina  to  herself,  "has  sounded 
the  depths  and  the  heights  of  experience.  His  hand 
has  swept  toute  la  lyre  of  life.  It  is  what  I  should  like 
to  do." 

"What  is  behind  that  mask?"  Lechmere  kept' asking 
silently.  "Shall  I  ever  know?" 

For,  looking  at  Petrina,  he  acknowledged  that  her 
face  was  not  easy  to  read.  It  was  not  unexpressive, 
but  it  showed  its  expression  rarely;  it  was  mobile  but 
inscrutable. 

He  knew  women  well;  he  had  formed  an  almost 
scornful  habit  of  classifying  them  at  sight.  Here, 
however,  he  felt  himself  checked.  As  he  talked  idly 
of  his  fishing  trip  to  Canada  with  Vassall,  he  was  se 
cretly  admiring  the  proud  poise  of  Petrina's  head,  the 
pure  oval  of  the  countenance,  the  refinement  of  the  small 

19 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

features,  and  the  rich,  ivory  tint  of  the  complexion. 
The  dark  eyes,  fringed  with  heavy  black,  curving 
lashes,  looked  at  him  as  if  with  a  gaze  that  meant  some 
thing — but  what  he  could  not  guess.  The  very  smile, 
sweet  and  gentle  as  it  was,  seemed  to  him  baffling  and 
mysterious. 

"The  face  is  classical,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but  less 
Greek  than  Egyptian.  She  is  not  Helen,  but  Cleo 
patra.  No;  rather  she  is  A'ida." 

Then  a  sudden  memory  seemed  to  change  the  cur 
rent  of  his  thoughts,  for  he  turned  away  and  gazed 
over  the  autumn-tinted  landscape.  Petrina  was  speak 
ing,  but  he  did  not  hear  her.  He  saw  another  A'ida, 
not  now  amid  the  New  Hampshire  hills,  but  against 
the  artificial  background  of  the  stage. 

"  Non  ti  rivedro  mai  piu — mai  piu,"  this  Aida  sang. 

"Mai  piu — mai  piu,"  was  the  echo  in  Lechmere's 
heart. 

Though  the  shadow  on  his  face  lasted  but  an  instant, 
Petrina  saw  it. 

"  You  live  abroad  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  I  think?' ' 
she  asked,  for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

"I  don't  live  anywhere,"  he  replied,  smiling  faintly. 
"  I  am  rarely  more  than  a  month  or  two  in  any  one 
place." 

"Are  you  so  fond  of  travelling,  then?" 

"  No,  I  hate  it.  But  I  am  a  modern  Wandering  Jew. 
I  must  move  on." 

"  Isn't  that  rather  dreary?" 

"No,  because  the  new  place  always  promises  to  be 
better  than  the  old." 

"And  on  arrival  you  find  it — ?" 

"Worse;  but  then  that  is  a  reason  for  moving  on 
again." 

"  And  yet  your  Brookline  place  is  so  beautiful,  they 

20 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

tell  me.  If  you  were  to  settle  down  there  for  a  little 
while,  don't  you  think  that  in  the  end  you  would  like 
that  best?" 

"  One  grows  like  the  man  in  Kipling's  poem — 

" '  I  must  go,  go,  go  away  from  here. 

On  the  other  side  the  world  I'm  overdue.' 

If  I  were  to  settle  in  Brookline,  and  live  at  the  Meer- 
stead,  some  reason  would  arise  for  starting  off  else 
where." 

"You  find  reasons,  then?  You  don't  act  on  mere 
caprice?" 

"Under  certain  circumstances  caprice  is  reason 
enough." 

Petrina  laughed. 

"I  like  that,"  she  said.  "It  requires  so  much  cour 
age  to  say  it,  here  in  New  England." 

"And  yet  to  me  it  is  only  one  manifestation  of  the 
New  England  spirit.  For  isn't  caprice  often  an  out 
let  for  intensity?  And  isn't  intensity  the  distinguish 
ing  quality  that  marks  the  true  New-Englander  out 
from  among  the  rest  of  men?" 

Lechmere's  voice  was  deep,  soft,  and  very  pleasant 
to  Petrina's  ear.  He  spoke  without  enthusiasm,  but 
without  effort. 

"I  speak  of  the  true  New-Englanders,"  he  went  on, 
"  of  those  who,  like  you  and  me,  inherit  the  blood  which 
founded  Plymouth,  Salem,  and  Boston.  What  stamps 
us  is  not  our  opinions,  but  the  way  in  which  we  hold 
them;  not  the  things  we  do,  but  the  way  in  which  we 
do  them." 

"You  mean  that  our  Puritan  inheritance  is  not  one 
of  creed,  but  of  temperament." 

"Precisely.  You  don't  believe  as  your  ancestors 

21 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

did  any  more  than  I ;  but  what  you  do  believe,  you  be 
lieve  with  the  same  fervid  sense  of  belonging  to  the 
elect.  You  don't  live  for  the  same  ends  as  they  did; 
but  what  you  do  live  for,  you  live  for  with  the  same 
eager  determination  to  work  your  ideals  out.  You 
and  I  are  no  longer  vexing  our  righteous  souls  with 
questions  of  Church  government,  but  we  are  vexing 
them  about  something  else — just  as  surely  as  Bradford 
ever  did  at  Austerfield  or  Brewster  at  Scrooby." 

"  But  if  we  are  living  for  purely  personal  ends?" 

"Then  we  are  living  with  the  same  intensity.  In 
tensity  is  the  quality  which,  before  every  other,  pervades 
all  our  joys  and  sorrows ;  it  may  be  veiled ;  it  may  be 
hidden ;  it  may  be  kept  down  under  an  exterior  of  petri 
fied  calm ;  but  it  is  always  there,  a  passion  in  the  heart, 
in  the  conscience,  in  the  thought,  inspiring  us  to  good 
or  to  evil  as  the  case  may  be,  but  always  driving  us  on. 
If  we  go  right,  we  do  it  nobly;  if  we  go  wrong,  it  is  as 
if  urged  to  it  by  whips  of  fire." 

"And  if  we  keep  going  round  and  round  the  world 
as  you  do?" 

"It  is  because  we  can't  help  it,"  Lechmere  laughed. 
"  It  is  because  up  there  in  Basset  Lawe  something  was 
bred  into  the  blood  which  makes  it  impossible  that  we 
should  take  things  easily,  or  let  our  trials  sit  lightly 
on  our  lives." 

"So  that  even  caprice  becomes  a  passion." 

"  So  that  there  is  no  caprice.  So  that  the  same  whips 
of  fire  which  send  Vassall  there  every  day  doggedly  to 
his  office,  as  though  there  were  no  such  thing  as  pleas 
ure,  send  me  from  land  to  land  and  from  sea  to  sea,  as 
though  there  were  no  such  thing  as  rest.  I  wonder  if 
you  feel  that?" 

"I  am  asking  questions,"  said  Petrina  with  a  light 
laugh,  "not  answering  them." 

22 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"You  don't  want  to  show  your  hand/'  said  Lech- 
mere,  feeling  checked  again. 

"I  have  none.  The  cards  have  not  yet  been  dealt 
me.  A  girl,  even  at  twenty-three  as  I  am — " 

"Holds  the  pack  and  has  the  deal." 

"But  the  deal  depends  upon  the  cut,  and  the  cut 
upon  the  cutter." 

"And  the  cutter,"  said  Lechmere,  a  little  bitterly, 
"  depends  upon  nothing  but  the  blindest  chance.  That 
is  the  hard  part  of  this  life.  He  may  give  his  opponent 
all  the  trumps  and  know  nothing  of  it  till  the  hand  is 
played." 

"So  that  your  advice  would  be — ?" 

"To  keep  out  of  the  game." 

"And  yet  you  haven't  done  so." 

"I  have  played  and — lost." 

"You  haven't  the  air  of  the  vanquished." 

"  It  is  the  poor  devil  that  goes  humming  and  smiling 
away  from  the  salles-de-jeu  who  shoots  himself  behind 
the  first  clump  of  cactus." 

"  But  he  has  had  the  excitement,"  said  Petrina,  with 
a  certain  lifting  of  the  head. 

"That  is  her  first  confession,"  Lechmere  thought. 
"Do  you  say  that?"  he  asked  aloud.  "I  had  begun  to 
think — but  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  it." 

"  By  all  means.     I  shall  not  be  offended." 

"I  had  begun  to  think  that  you  were  one  of  those 
prudent  modern  women  who  will  not  risk  the  stakes 
they  hold  for  fear  of  losing  them." 

"They  keep  out  of  the  game.  I  understand  that  to 
be  your  counsel." 

"A  counsel  given  in  haste,  but  not  to  be  taken  at 
leisure.  In  knocking  about  the  world  I  see  so  many  of 
my  countrywomen  who  will  not  risk  income  and  inde 
pendence  for  higher  joys." 

23 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"Considered  merely  as  joys,  income  and  indepen 
dence  are  already  thought  to  rank  above  the  average. 
One  can't  have  everything,  and  it  is  often  best  to  keep 
the  bone  rather  than  try  to  seize  the  shadow." 

"I  don't  believe  you  think  so."  Lechmere's  tone 
was  provocative. 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  what  I  think,  but  of  what  is 
best  for  our  poor,  undefended  sex.  We  never  quite  lose 
the  sense  that  civilization  has  treated  us  somewhat 
badly.  After  nineteen  centuries  of  the  modern  era  we 
are  not  yet  quite  sure  whether  we  are  men's  inferiors, 
superiors,  or  equals;  and,  whichever  point  of  view  we 
take,  some  one  is  ready  to  laugh  us  to  scorn/' 

"  So  that  safety  lies  in  keeping  one's  income  and  in 
dependence  unimpaired  so  long  as  one  is  lucky  enough 
to  have  them?" 

''  Safety  lies  in  living  one's  individual  life  with  the 
least  possible  collision  with  any  other  life." 

"But  if  the  collision  is  inevitable?" 

"  In  disentangling  one's  self  and  still  going  on  one's 
way." 

"  Leaving  the  sinking  ship  to  sink  and  the  drowning 
men  to  drown?" 

"You  push  the  metaphor  too  far.  When  a  woman 
is  in  danger  it  is  more  than  she  can  do  to  save  herself." 

"Is  that  why  women  are  growing  so  self-centred?" 

"  Our  mothers  and  our  grandmothers  had  all  the  dar 
ing  of  timidity.  They  committed  themselves  without 
question  or  condition  to  the  care  of  some  one  else.  This 
confidence  was  so  little  justified  that  what  they  gave 
into  others'  keeping  women  to-day  prefer  to  reserve  in 
their  own.  They  find  prudence  better  than  protection." 

"  If  men  were  half  so  cautious  there  would  be  no  such 
thing  as  progress.  Progress  is  the  child  of  venture." 

"Doubtless.  But  the  woman  has  had  to  run  with 

24 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

the  hare  while  the  man  has  hunted  with  the  hounds. 
It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  she  should  have  de 
veloped  an  abnormal  scent  for  danger." 

"Which—?" 

"Which  has  replaced  the  daring  of  timidity  by  the 
challenge  of  defiance." 

"And  the  denial  of  duty." 

"  Yes,  to  some  extent.  Duty  is  one  of  the  most  mis 
used  words  in  the  language.  It  is  generally  employed 
so  as  to  mean  what  other  people  think  we  ought  to  do." 

"  Other  people  are  often  better  judges  than  ourselves. 
They  are  more  impartial." 

"But  less  well-informed." 

"It  is  the  looker-on  who  sees  most  of  the  game." 

"But  not  always  the  reasons  for  the  play.  One 
judges  of  that  for  one's  self." 

"One  must  go  according  to  Hoyle." 

"  That  is  what  I  object  to.  I  am  not  in  this  world  to 
play  Hoyle's  game,  but  my  own." 

"  But  if  you  lose  the  tricks?" 

"  I  maintain  my  individuality." 

"  That  is  likely  to  be  hard  on  your  partner/' 

"My  partner  must  take  care  of  himself,"  laughed 
Petrina. 

"Some  people,"  cried  Vassall,  who,  sauntering  up 
with  Mrs.  Faneuil,  had  caught  the  last  few  sentences — 
"  some  people  would  call  that  the  feeble  feminine  sense 
of  honor." 

"And  you?" 

Petrina  flashed  on  him  a  look  of  interest.  It  was 
clear  that  she  cared  to  know  his  point  of  view. 

"I  am  too  wary  to  risk  an  opinion,"  said  Vassall, 
offering  her  a  great  sheaf  of  golden- rod  and  Michael 
mas  daisies.  "I  let  this  act  and  these  emblems  speak 
for  me," 

25 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"That  means  he  is  against  us,"  Mrs.  Faneuil  cried. 
"If  a  man  has  anything  good  to  say  of  women  he  is 
only  too  glad  of  the  chance  to  prove  himself  a  flat 
terer." 

"With  the  flatterers  there  are  often  busy  mockers,  I 
have  read/'  Petrina  rejoined. 

Then  they  talked  on  bariteringly,  but  Petrina  said 
nothing  more.  She  had  ceased  to  listen.  She  lay 
back  in  her  long  chair,  letting  her  eyes  wander  from 
one  speaker  to  another,  and  instinctively  comparing 
the  two  men  before  her. 

As  she  glanced  at  Lechmere,  she  recognized  the 
justice  of  her  stepmother's  description.  He  did  look 
like  a  Vandyke  Charles  I.  There  was  the  same  noble 
forehead,  the  same  large,  gentle  eyes,  the  same 
pointed  beard,  and  the  same  upward-curving  mustache 
which  did  not  conceal  the  mobile,  rather  sensuous, 
mouth. 

"He's  not  like  other  men,"  she  thought.  "Mamma 
was  quite  right.  He  is  something  of  a  Stuart.  He 
has  the  Stuart  dignity,  the  Stuart  charm,  and  possibly 
the  Stuart  haplessness." 

It  was  with  unconscious  relief  that  she  turned  from 
Lechmere  to  Vassall.  However  much  she  liked  the 
complex,  she  preferred  simplicity  in  men :  and,  as 
she  looked  over  at  the  man  of  her  choice,  standing  by 
Mrs.  Faneuil  in  the  grass,  she  felt,  with  satisfaction, 
that  she  could  read  him  easily.  Had  she  met  him 
in  Cairo,  Constantinople,  or  St.  Petersburg  she  would 
have  known  him  to  be  of  that  special  Anglo-Saxon 
type  which  is  brought  forth  by  New  England,  trained 
by  Harvard,  and  indelibly  stamped  by  Boston.  Pe 
trina  passed  over  his  fair  but  sun-browned  good-looks 
and  his  rather  negligent  attire  as  circumstances  of  no 
importance;  but  she  liked  to  observe  his  intellectual 

26 


Let  Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

forehead,  his  thoughtful  eyes,  his  straight  nose,  and 
sensitive  nostrils.  These,  she  felt,  were  points  by 
which  you  could  judge  a  man.  She  might  have  con 
sidered  the  mouth  too  stubborn,  only  that  it  was  nearly 
hidden  by  a  long,  fair  mustache:  but  she  was  aware 
that  the  ascetic,  clean-shaven  cheek,  and  the  square- 
set  chin  were  marks  of  a  character  bound  to  fight  and 
work,  and  not  to  tread  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance. 
That  was  not  quite  what  she  wanted;  but  then  she 
would  have  had  less  interest  in  finding  a  husband 
already  perfect  in  the  graces  it  would  be  her  pleasure 
to  impart.  Petrina  believed  that  the  best  plan  in  mar 
riage  was  to  take  a  man,  more  or  less  unformed,  and 
mould  him.  She  knew  that  Vassall  had  pursuits  for 
which  she  did  not  care :  he  was  much  occupied  with 
the  improvement  of  municipal  politics  in  America,  and 
with  prison  reform  all  over  the  world ;  he  even  wrote 
articles  and  attended  conferences  in  which  these  un 
fashionable  subjects  were  treated  seriously.  She  had 
no  positive  objection  to  that,  but  she  found  it  unneces 
sary  to  the  ends  she  had  in  view.  She  did  not  see  him 
as  other  people  did.  He  never  appeared  to  her  as  a 
rising  lawyer,  or  as  a  promising  fellow  who  might 
take  a  high  place  in  public  life.  He  was  only  a  nice- 
looking,  well-bred,  honest  37oung  man,  who  had  some 
how  managed  to  touch  her  heart. 

Moreover,  she  acknowledged  him  to  be  her  equal, 
and  her  equals  she  found  rare.  She  had  long  meant 
to  marry,  and  to  marry  one  of  her  own  countrymen. 
She  had  declined  already  more  than  one  decorative 
name  and  picturesque  ancestral  background  in  order 
to  carry  out  this  patriotic  principle;  but  up  to  the  pres 
ent  she  had  seen  no  one  worthy  to  erase  the  Faneuil 
name,  and  spend  the  Faneuil  money,  and  walk  as 
prince-consort  at  her  own  left  hand. 

27 


Let    Not   Man    Put    Asunder 

Petrina  thought  highly  of  herself  as  the  last  of  her 
race.  There  had  been  Peter  Faneuils  almost  as  long 
as  there  had  been  American  history.  When,  at  her 
birth,  her  mother  lay  dying,  and  they  told  her  father 
that  the  baby  was  a  girl,  he  had  said,  "Call  her  Pe 
trina,  for  there  will  never  be  another  Peter  Faneuil 
now."  She  bore  the  name  with  pride;  she  was  con 
scious  of  representing  something  of  her  country's  past; 
she  took,  in  her  own  estimation,  a  high  place  in  the 
little  group  (acknowledged  an  aristocracy  in  every 
land)  of  those  whose  houses  have  rendered  conspicuous 
public  services.  Sole  inheritor  of  wealth,  sole  pos 
sessor  of  a  name,  sole  mistress  of  her  freedom,  Petrina 
felt  herself  to  stand  apart  from  other  young  women  of 
her  age  and  station.  In  society,  in  friendship,  in  mar 
riage,  it  was  her  idea  to  choose  rather  than  be  chosen, 
and  to  honor  rather  than  be  honored.  Thus  in  be 
stowing  her  heart  on  Vassall  she  had  been  urged  not 
by  any  hasty  or  too  strong  emotion;  she  had  selected 
like  a  young  queen-regnant  who  deliberately  chooses 
from  among  the  eligible  princes  of  the  earth. 

To  Vassall  the  indications  of  her  preference  had 
come  like  something  too  lovely  to  be  credible.  He  had 
stood  in  the  extreme  outer  circle  of  her  admirers,  scarce 
ly  expecting  to  be  distinguished  in  the  crowd.  There 
were  so  many  other  men  whom  she  might  naturally 
have  noticed  before  him — richer,  cleverer,  handsomer 
men,  men  whom  she  met  at  the  dinners  to  which  he 
was  rarely  invited,  and  at  the  dances  which  it  was  sel 
dom  his  taste  to  attend — that  when  she  began  to  single 
him  out  he  took  her  favors  as  the  kindness  of  a  princess 
to  her  courtier  and  no  more.  He  told  himself  not  to 
hope;  he  held  himself  back  from  lifting  his  glance  too 
high.  In  his  attitude  towards  her  he  was  deferen 
tial,  but  detached;  friendly,  but  not  familiar.  He  was 

28 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

anxious  to  protect  his  pride  from  humiliation  as  well 
as  his  heart  from  needless  pain. 

Little  by  little  Petrina  had  shown  him  that  neither 
need  be  feared.  As  winter  waned  and  spring  went 
by  he  loosed  the  check  upon  himself;  he  came  nearer 
and  was  welcomed;  he  paid  open  court  and  was  not 
disdained.  Now  he  was  in  that  happy  stage  in  the  race 
for  love  where  his  rivals  were  all  behind  him,  and  the 
goal  was  well  in  sight,  though  the  crown  was  not  yet 
won.  He  was,  in  short,  just  where  Petrina Js  strategy 
had  placed  him,  and  where  she  had  meant  for  months 
that  he  should  be. 


CHAPTER  III 

"YOU  wouldn't  expect  me  to  congratulate  you,  old 
chap,"  Lechmere  called  from  his  room,  where  he  was 
rilling  his  pipe. 

"Why  so?"  Vassall  asked,  absently. 

He  was  seated  sidewise  on  the  balustrade  of  the  bal 
cony  that  connected  his  room  at  the  inn  With  Lech- 
mere's.  Puffing  softly  at  his  cigarette,  he  was  looking 
up  at  the  great  golden  moon  rising  behind  Mount  Ma 
jestic.  High  above  his  point  of  view  and  across  a  wood 
ed  valley,  now  lying  dark  in  the  night  shadow,  he  saw 
the  lights  of  Faneuil  Hill  twinkle  like  a  little  group  of 
stars. 

At  dinner  Lechmere  had  talked  much  of  Petrina. 
He  had  praised  her  and  appraised  her;  he  had  criti 
cised  her  style  and  analyzed  her  character;  he  had 
compared  her  with  other  women;  and  admitted  his  in 
ability  to  put  her  into  any  of  the  classes  in  which  he 
had  tabulated  them. 

"She  is  a  pagan  Puritan,"  he  had  said,  pursuing 
his  favorite  theme.  "She  has  the  Puritan  zeal  and 
the  pagan  lack  of  principle.  She  is  the  cosmopolitan 
New-Englander,  at  once  strait-laced  and  unconvention 
al.  She  has  in  her  all  the  coldness  of  Boston,  all  the 
correctness  of  London,  and  all  the  impetuosity  of  Paris. 
She  is  frank,  she  is  possibly  loyal,  and  yet  I  doubt  if 
she  is  a  woman  to  be  trusted. " 

"Go  to  the  devil  with  your  analysis,"  Vassall  had 
exclaimed  impatiently,  as  Lechmere  kept  the  subject 

30 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

up,  even  after  they  had  settled  down  on  the  balcony  to 
tobacco  and  green  chartreuse. 

Then,  with  a  skilful  question  or  two,  Lechniere  had 
probed  his  friend's  hopes. 

"Ho,  ho,  Harry,  my  boy!  So  that's  the  way  the 
cat  jumps,  is  it?  Now  I  see  the  reason  for  this  out-of- 
the-way  journey  into  the  fastnesses  of  New  Hamp 
shire.  Siegfried  has  struggled  through  the  thicket 
to  find  Briinhilde  on  the  hill  of  fire.  The  lady  is  not 
asleep,  though.  She  struck  me  as  uncommonly  wide 
awake." 

"  You  wrill  be  struck  in  another  way  if  you  don't  shut 
up,"  Vassall  had  said,  a  little  nettled. 

"Then  I  shall  get  out  of  harm's  way,"  Lechmere 
had  replied,  going  back  into  the  room  to  fill  his  pipe. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Vassall  leaned  back 
against  a  pilaster  of  the  balcony  and  watched  the  ris 
ing  moon.  The  light  above  the  mountain  made  all 
the  valley  below  seem  very  dark.  The  night  was  still. 
Now  and  then  slight  sounds  were  heard  in  the  forest, 
and  from  far  away,  near  the  lake,  came  the  maniacal, 
lonely  laughter  of  a  loon. 

"You  wouldn't  expect  me  to  congratulate  you,  old 
chap,"  persisted  Lechmere,  calling  from  the  room. 

"Why  so?" 

Vassall  answered  wearily.  He  would  have  been  glad 
to  let  the  subject  drop. 

"Because,"  said  Lechmere,  coming  out  and  taking 
his  seat  again,  "  my  conscience  will  not  allow  me  to  say 
that  I  approve  when  I  don't." 

"It's  best,  then,  for  our  future  relations  that  your 
opinion  should  not  be  asked." 

"I  give  it  spontaneously,  old  man.  -My  eloquence 
is  bubbling  up  within  me,  like  a  fountain  that  no  power 
can  dam." 

31 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

"If  your  last  word  ends  with  an  TV,  I  can  prove  you 
wrong  by — " 

"  Doing  it  yourself.  Let  it  be  AT  or  M ,  then,  as  you 
please,  so  long  as  I  deliver  my  soul/' 

"Let  him  now  speak,  or  else  hereafter  forever  hold 
his  peace." 

"  I  see  you  have  been  studying  the  marriage  service. 
You  will  remember,  then,  that  immediately  before  the 
words  you  have  quoted  there  is  a  charge  requiring 
any  man  who  can  show  just  cause  why  N  and  M 
may  not  be  lawfully  joined  together  to  declare  it." 

"I  remember  that  there  is  something  of  the  sort." 

"  Then  he  would  be  no  true  friend  who  failed  to  show 
the  impediment  before  things  had  gone  too  far?" 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  are  driving  at,  but  go  on." 

"Therefore  I  stand  here  on  this  balcony,  this  lovely 
New  Hampshire  night,  and  forbid  the  banns.  That  is 
to  say,  I  sit  rather  than  stand,  and  object  rather  than 
forbid." 

"On  what  ground?" 

"  On  the  ground  that  any  man  is  mad  who  of  his  own 
voluntary  act  gives  himself  away  in  mind,  body,  in 
come,  liberty,  and  sometimes  in  very  soul." 

"Then  your  objection  is  not  to  my  banns  in  particu 
lar,  but  to  all  banns  in  general?" 

"To  yours  in  particular,  because  they  are  yours.  I 
don't  want  to  see  my  old  friend  run  his  head  into  a  hal 
ter  out  of  which  he  can  never  wriggle  without  a  good 
deal  of  choking.  I've  gone  through  that  myself,  you 
know.  I  should  like  to  keep  you  out  of  it." 

Vassall  stirred  uneasily.  In  the  three  months  in 
which  Lechmere  and  he  had  passed  most  of  their  leis 
ure  time  together  no  reference  had  ever  been  made  to 
that  marriage  and  divorce  whose  details  had  been  given 
in  the  press  of  two  continents.  Vassall  had  studiously 

32 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

kept  from  any  allusion  to  the  subject;  Lechmere  had 
ignored  it.  Now  both  men  grew  silent — Vassall  be 
cause  he  feared  being  indiscreet,  Lechmere  because  his 
thought  was  already  back  in  the  life  from  which  he  had 
fled. 

So  they  smoked  on  silently.  The  moon  mounted 
higher  in  the  sky,  lighting  up  the  valleys  of  the  forest. 
The  laughter  ceased  from  the  verandas  of  the  inn,  and 
soon  the  whole  house  sank  into  stillness.  The  lights 
on  Faneuil  Hill  went  out. 

"It  is  growing  late,"  said  Vassall,  moving  from  his 
perch  on  the  balustrade.  "I  think  I'll  turn  in." 

"Don't  go  yet,"  said  Lechmere.  "It  is  too  lovely  a 
night  for  sleep.  Besides,  I  want  to  yarn  on  a  little  bit." 

Vassall  said  nothing,  but  lighted  another  cigarette 
and  refilled  his  glass. 

"You're  a  good  sort,  Harry,"  Lechmere  went  on. 
"  You  would  let  me  give  you  advice  and  yet  never  say, 
'  Physician,  heal  thyself. '  ' 

"I  am  willing  that  you  should  make  my  business 
yours,  Dick,  without  insisting  that  yours  shall  be  mine." 

"I've  often  wondered,  since  we've  been  knocking 
about  together,  what  you've  thought  of  my  life  during 
the  past  three  years." 

"If  you  want  me  to  criticise  it,  old  man,  I  don't  know 
that  I  can  oblige  you." 

"No,  I  suppose  you  can't.  And  I'm  not' sure  that 
criticism  is  what  I  want.  I  rather  think  it's  counsel." 

"I'm  not  much  good  at  that.  Counsel  is  generally 
so  cheap — " 

"And  nasty;  so  easy  to  give  and  so  hard  to  take; 
so  stale  and  flat  and  unprofitable.  I  know  all  about 
that,  and  yet  I  should  like  to  hear  your  ideas,  none  the 
less.  I  want  a  dose  of  good  stiff  Puritan  severity  to 
brace  me  up,  and  I  don't  know  where  else  to  look  for  it." 

33 


Let   Not   Man    Put    Asunder 

"Are  you  sure  it  isn't  best  to  let  sleeping  dogs  lie?" 

A  subtle  change  came  over  Lechmere. 

"  There  is  no  sleeping  dog  in  my  life.  There  is  only 
an  untamed  beast  that  is  always  trying  to  down  me." 

Vassall  had  the  nervous  discomfort  of  a  reticent  man 
who  covers  up  his  own  wounds  and  dreads  to  look  upon 
those  of  another.  He  was  not  unsympathetic,  but  he 
had  the  New  England  fear  of  being  called  upon  for  a 
show  of  emotion. 

"  You'd  better  think  twice,  Dick,  before  you  speak  of 
that,"  he  said  with  constraint.  "  You  will  perhaps  re 
gret  to-morrow  what  you  may  say  to-night." 

"Not  with  you." 

Lechmere  sat  up  straight  and  looked  hard  at  Vassall 
through  the  moonlight. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  my  wife?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"Yes,"  said  Vassall,  entering  on  the  subject  with 
reluctance. 

"Where?" 

"At  Covent  Garden;  at  the  Metropolitan  in  New 
York;  and  when  she  first  began  to  sing  at  the  Opera- 
Comique  in  Paris." 

"What  did  you  think  of  her?" 

"I  thought  she  sang  well." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"I  thought  her  pretty." 

"Of  course.     But  is  that  all?" 

"No.  Only  I  hardly  know  how  to  express  the  rest. 
I  don't  see  why  you  are  questioning  me.  She  seemed 
to  me  extremely  charming  —  extremely  seductive,  I 
ought  to  say." 

"Didn't  it  strike  you  that  a  man  could  more  easily 
go  to  the  devil  for  her  than  for  any  one  else  in  the  world?" 

"Perhaps  so.  I  may  have  had  some  such  feeling 
about  her." 

34 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"In  what  rdles  have  you  seen  her?" 

"Several  times  as  Carmen." 

"And—?" 

"As  Marguerite." 

"Never  as  Ai'da?" 

"  Yes,  as  Ai'da,  as  Elisabeth,  as  Santuzza,  as  Eva  in 
the  'Meistersinger,'  as  —  as  —  I  forget  for  the  moment 
what  else." 

"Juliet?" 

"Yes— Juliet." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  on  earth  like  her  voice 
in  the  two  duets — on  the  balcony  and  in  the  chamber?" 

"Never." 

"Doesn't  the  very  memory  make  you  thrill?" 

"Yes,  Dick,"  said  Vassall,  speaking  now  with  great 
er  freedom  and  conviction. 

"  And  you  have  only  heard  it  from  the  stalls.  I  have 
lived  through  it.  We  have  not  only  sung  the  things 
together,  but  we've  lived  them  together.  You  can  im 
agine  what  it  must  be  to  me." 

"I  think  I  can,  Dick." 

"It  was  so  real  at  the  time — la  douce  nuit  d'amour. 
The  thought  that  that  time  is  over  isn't  easy  to  bear." 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  over?" 

"I  don't  know.  That's  what  I  want  to  ask  you. 
My  own  life  has  become  a  riddle  to  me;  and  I  have  no 
clew  at  all  to  hers." 

He  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet,  and  moved  away  to 
the  end  of  the  balcony.  Vassall,  who  felt  his  frigidity 
melting,  followed. 

"I  will  do  anything  I  can  for  you,"  he  said. 

"Thanks,"  Lechmere  answered,  quietly.  "I  want 
only  to  know  which  way  to  turn." 

"Have  you  had  no  communication  with  her?"  Vas 
sall  asked,  "since  the — the — ?" 

35 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"Divorce?  No — none.  But  I've  seen  her.  If  I  had 
any  lurking  hope  of  taking  up  the  past  again  it  received 
its  death-blow  then.  And  yet  I  have  a  longing  for — I 
don't  know  what." 

"Did  you  seek  her  out?  Or  did  you  meet  by  acci 
dent?" 

"It  was  last  June,  in  London.  I  didn't  know  she 
was  there.  I  have  latterly  avoided  the  great  capitals 
where  she  has  been  singing,  through  fear  of  being 
bowled  over  by  some  weakness.  I  had  come  back 
from  the  East,  and  was  only  passing  through  Lon 
don  on  my  way  to  take  the  boat  at  Liverpool.  I  had 
but  one  night  to  spend,  and  I  saw  her  announced  for 
Ai'da.  I  couldn't  help  it;  I  went." 

"And  then?" 

"I  found  a  box  on  the  grand  tier  near  the  stage.  I 
wanted  to  be  conspicuous,  to  have  her  notice  me.  At 
first  I  thought  she  didn't.  She  came  before  the  cur 
tain,  but  gave  me  no  glance  of  recognition.  It  was  not 
until  the  act  by  the  Nile,  outside  the  temple,  that  I  knew 
she  had  seen  me.  She  was  singing  her  air  '  O  Patria 
mia.'  Then  suddenly,  at  the  words  '  Non  ti  rivedro  mai 
piu — mai  pill,'  she  turned  and  looked  at  me.  I  knew 
what  she  meant.  She  sang  with  intention,  and  I  un 
derstood.  In  spite  of  the  pathos  of  the  air  and  situa 
tion  I  knew  her  heart  was  hardened  against  me.  '  Non 
ti  rivedro  mai  piu. '  That  signified  that  she  never  meant 
to  see  me  again.  She  seemed  to  say  to  me, '  If  you  have 
come  here  hoping  either  to  frighten  me  or  to  win  me 
back,  you  are  wrong.  You  are  nothing  to  me  but  a 
memory.  I  have  outlived  your  time.  I  am  happy 
now  with  some  one  else!'  I  waited,  however,  till  the 
end  of  the  act.  I  saw  her  come  before  the  curtain 
with  Rhadames  and  Amneris,  but  she  looked  no  more 
my  way.  She  smiled  in  response  to  the  applause. 

36 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

She  bowed  to  the  princess  and  nodded  to  some  one 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house.  I  think  she  had  for 
gotten  me  already." 

"And  that  is  all?" 

"  That  is  all.     I  haven't  seen  her  since. " 

There  was  silence  for  a  while,  during  which  both 
men,  standing  side  by  side,  smoked  and  reflected. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  old  fellow?"  Vassall 
asked  at  last. 

"To  advise  me." 

"But  how?  I  know  so  little  of  the  circumstances 
of  your  marriage  and  separation!" 

"Of  course.  But  I  want  to  tell  you.  You  know 
I've  suffered,  and  now  that  I'm  free  you  think  I  should 
be  satisfied.  No,  I'm  damned  if  I'm  satisfied.  And 

yet-" 

"And  yet  you  don't  know  what  you  want?" 

"  Listen,  Harry.  Sit  down ;  smoke  ;  drink ;  keep 
awake;  you  can  sleep  to-morrow.  Give  me  an  hour 
to-night  for  our  old  friendship's  sake.  You  must  see 
that  beneath  all  this  stolidity  and  sang-froid  that  I'm 
pretty  nearly  used  up.  If  you  can't  help  me,  then — " 

"Then  what?" 

"Then — but  never  mind  that.  That  is  a  last  re 
source,  but  it  is  always  possible  to  find  it." 

"If  you  want  me  to  help  you,"  said  Vassall,  sitting 
down  again,  " you  must  let  me  treat  you  as  a  client." 

"I  ask  nothing  better,  and  I'm  ready  to  pay  you  a 
jolly  good  fee." 

"  And  if  you're  my  client  I  must  ask  you,  as  I  always 
do,  to  tell  me  the  whole  truth." 

"The  whole  truth  will  be  a  big  dose  for  your  New 
England  digestion." 

"You  needn't  think  of  me.  When  it  is  too  much  to 
swallow  I'll  tell  you  to  stop." 

37 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"What  shall  I  do? 

"Treat  me  as  your  lawyer,  or  your  doctor,  or  your 
father-confessor;  otherwise  I  can  do  nothing." 

" Let  me  fill  my  pipe  again." 

Lechmere  went  back  into  his  room.  When  he  re 
turned  there  was  another  subtle  change  in  his  manner. 
He  took  his  seat  again  beside  Vassall,  and  when  he 
spoke  it  was  quietly. 

"  It  is  curious/'  he  began,  "  that  I  had  never  seen 
Felicia  on  the  stage  before  having  met  her  elsewhere. 
I  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  her,  of  course.  At  Vi 
enna  I  knew  some  men  who  were  devotees  of  hers,  and 
always  formed  a  sort  of  claque  when  she  sang.  What 
they  told  me  of  her,  what  I  heard  in  clubs  and  other 
places,  gave  me  a  prejudice  against  her." 

"You  may  speak  as  plainly  as  you  like,  Dick,"  said 
Vassall,  warningly.  "  But  again  let  me  remind  you 
not  to  say  to-night  what  you  may  regret  to-morrow." 

"Thanks,  old  chap.  But  unless  I  speak  plainly 
you  will  never  be  able  to  advise  me;  and  I  need  advice 
more  than  the  drowning  man  needs  a  straw.  I  must 
have  something  to  clutch  at,  otherwise  I  shall  go  under. " 

"All  right,"  muttered  Vassall.  "But  don't  forget  I 
warned  you." 

"  I  won't.  Let  me  continue.  It  was  not  until  I  went 
to  London  for  the  season  three  years  ago  last  spring 
that  I  ever  saw  her.  I  had  been  dining  at  your  sister's, 
and  there  I  met  Chaillot,  the  big  French  barytone,  who 
was  so  much  about  with  Lady  de  Bohun  that  year.  I 
hadn't  seen  Chaillot  for  a  long  time,  and  so,  as  we  were 
both  at  the  Savoy,  we  took  the  opportunity  to  walk 
home  together.  Arrived  at  the  hotel,  Chaillot  asked 
me  to  his  room.  He  was  then  preparing  for  his  pre- 
tni&re  as  Escamillo,  and  we  talked  a  good  deal  about  it. 
By  and  by  Chaillot  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  began  to 

38 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

sing  some  of  his  airs.  He  was  nervous,  and  afraid  of 
making  a  fiasco.  I  think  he  mentioned  to  me  that 
Mademoiselle  de  Prony,  who  was  to  be  Carmen,  was 
ill  in  the  rooms  below  his  own.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
light  knock,  and  before  Chaillot  had  time  to  speak  the 
door  was  thrown  open  and  Felicia  de  Prony  herself 
stood  there. 

"May  I  come  in?'  she  asked,  in  English. 

"  She  wore  a  sort  of  dressing-gown,  all  white  lace 
and  flounces.  Her  hair  was  hanging  down,  and  her 
bare  feet  in  slippers.  Her  maid  was  behind  her. 

"Mais  tu  es  folle,  Felicie,  de  venir  comme  cela  chez 
moi,'  Chaillot  cried. 

"She  only  laughed  and  came  in.  Chaillot  intro 
duced  me  to  her,  and  I  may  as  well  say  here  that  for  me 
it  was  what  a  Frenchman  would  call  the  coup  de  foudre. 
Felicia  gave  me  only  one  look — but  a  look  that  did  all 
the  work.  She  was  in  one  of  her  innocent  moods.  She 
was  Marguerite  in  the  garden,  when  she  first  detects 
her  love  for  Faust.  If  you  have  seen  her  in  the  part — " 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"  Well,  that  night  she  excelled  herself.  She  was  sim 
ple,  ingenuous,  appealing.  She  was  too  trustful  even 
to  know  that  her  presence  like  that  in  Chaillot's  room 
at  a  late  hour  of  the — " 

"  Are  you  speaking  satirically  or  not?" 

"Not  wholly,  for  while  the  mood  lasted  Felicia  was 
as  innocent  as  she  seemed  to  be.  She  was  acting,  but 
she  was  acting  in  earnest.  She  was  acting  because 
she  can  do  nothing  else.  Life  with  her  is  always  some 
vein  of  comedy  or  tragedy.  She  is  Ophelia,  or  Juliet, 
or  Elisabeth,  or  Carmen,  or  Marguerite  Gautier,  or 
Mimi  Pinson,  as  the  case  may  be — but  never  her  real 
self.  She  seems  to  have  no  real  self.  She  is  like  a 
harp,  which  vibrates  to  every  idle  wind  of  emotion,  but 

39 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 


has  no  sensation  of  its  own.  All  in  her  is  momentary, 
fanciful,  and  without  consequence.  It's  true  that  she 
never  had  any  training.  I  ought  to  have  remembered 
that,  and  been  gentler  with  her." 

"You  know  her  early  history,  then?" 

"Her  name  was  Felicie  Lebon.  Her  father  was  a 
strolling  violinist,  her  mother  a  strolling  singer — both 
of  them  of  the  class  who  wander  from  one  small  theatre 
to  another  among  the  provincial  towns  in  France.  The 
girl  was  born  into  the  theatre,  so  to  speak.  She  never 
knew  any  other  life,  never  any  other  standard  of  honor, 
morality,  or  self-control.  She  had  less  of  a  permanent 
home  than  a  gypsy,  less  nurturing  than  many  a  wild 
bird.  One  thing  only  her  parents  gave  her,  a  more 
or  less  sound  artistic  training.  They  died  just  as  she 
was  becoming  known." 

"That  must  have  been  about  the  time  when  I  first 
saw  her." 

"Well — to  go  back  to  the  night  in  Chaillot's  room. 
After  the  first  interchange  of  salutations,  she  took  no 
further  notice  of  me,  except  that  my  vanity  was  tickled 
in  hearing  her  say  to  Chaillot, '  Quel  beau  gargon !  Qui 
est-il?'  This  was  in  parenthesis,  as  she  explained  to 
Chaillot  how,  down  in  her  room,  she  had  heard  him 
singing  and  had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  impulse  to 
rim  up  for  an  impromptu  rehearsal.  In  a  few  minutes 
they  were  singing  together.  Felicia  changed  in  a 
flash  from  Marguerite  to  Carmen.  The  maid  sat  de 
murely  just  inside  the  door;  I,  by  a  window  that  looked 
out  on  the  gas-lit  windings  of  the  Thames.  You  can 
understand  that  the  scene  has  never  faded  from  my 
memory.  Felicia  sang  and  acted  for  my  benefit;  that 
was  clear;  but  it  was  done  with  wonderful  skill.  And 
then  the  quality  in  her  voice — " 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Vassall.  "The  one  word 

40 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

'  L' amour/  as  she  sings  it  to  Escamillo  in  the  smug 
glers'  scene,  is  enough  to  call  up  in  a  man  all  the  seven 
devils  of  desire." 

" Don't  1"  interrupted  Lechmere.  "It  rouses  some 
thing  in  me  to  know  that  even  you  have  heard  her  and 
responded  to  that  temptation.  I  am  like  a  ;fool  when  I 
think  that  any  one  else  has  listened  to  her  or  spoken  to 
her  or  seen  her.  I  am  jealous  of  all  who  are  near  her, 
or  have  ever  been  near  her.  I  am  like  one  of  the  people 
in  ' L'Africaine/  jaloux  de  ce  qui  nest  plus." 

"You  have  been  hard  hit,  Dick." 

"  I  said  just  now  that  at  her  entry  I  had  received  the 
coup  de  foudre.  There  was,  however,  a  moment  later 
when  I  was,  as  it  were,  blasted.  It  was  at  the  very 
end  of  their  singing.  They  had  come  to  that  passage 
which  the  barytones  always  find  so  difficult :  '  Si  tu 
m' aimes,  Carmen ';  it  is  just  before  Escamillo's  exit 
to  the  bull-ring.  They  had  already  sung  it  several 
times,  so  that  Chaillot  might  get  quite  easily  the  queer 
interval  ending  in  the  high  E  flat.  'Encore  une  der- 
niere  fois,'  said  Felicia,  and  they  began  again.  She 
had  hitherto  sung  her  phrase,  '  Oui,  je  t'aime,'  snug 
gling  up  to  him  as  she  does  on  the  stage.  But  this 
time  she  slipped  from  Chaillot  and  turned  towards  me, 
fixing  her  great  eyes  on  mine,  and  spreading  her  hands 
apart  with  a  gesture  that  signified  the  Lord  knows 
what.  '  Oui,  je  t'aime,'  she  sang.  The  effrontery  of 
the  act  was  veiled  by  the  air  of  amusing  mockery  with 
which  she  picked  up  her  floating  laces  on  each  side  and 
made  a  deep  reverence.  Before  I  had  time  to  spring 
to  my  feet  it  was  all  over.  She  was  Marguerite  in 
the  garden  again,  all  innocence  and  timidity.  After  a 
word  or  two  to  Chaillot  she  turned  and  wished  us  both 
the  most  modest  of  good-nights,  and  then  glided  from 
the  room." 

41 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Lechmere  rose  and  began 
to  pace  restlessly  up  and  down  on  the  balcony. 

"That  was  at  the  end  of  May/'  he  went  on  again. 
"In  August  we  were  married.  We  took  a  house  in 
England,  near  Windsor.  Felicia  was  pleased  with 
the  new  part  she  was  playing;  she  was  pleased  to  be 
acting  the  r61e  of  a  lady  in  real  life  and  without  the 
footlights.  In  our  walks  and  drives  through  the  Berk 
shire  forests,  in  idle,  dreaming,  drifting  days  upon  the 
Thames,  I  could  forget  what  she  had  been  before  she 
became  my  wife.  She  seemed  to  forget  it,  too.  It  was 
as  if  we  had  waked  together  into  a  new  existence  in 
which  there  never  had  been  anything  befofe  we  knew 
each  other.  I  don't  say  that  there  were  no  jarring  notes 
in  this  happy  time  at  Windsor.  Now  and  then  there 
was  a  word,  a  letter,  a  recollection,  which  reminded  me 
that  we  were  both  as  actors  in  a  great  scene  on  a  great 
stage,  that  the  curtain  must  go  down  one  day,  and  that 
we  must  return  again  into  the  actual.  But  I  could  al 
ways  put  the  thought  away  from  me.  Face  to  face  with 
a  creature  so  simple  and  gentle,  it  was  impossible  to 
believe  anything  of  her  but  the  best." 

"Could  you  not  have  kept  that  fiction  up?" 

"No;  she  wouldn't  let  me.  She  wouldn't  stay  on  the 
pedestal  on  which  I  had  placed  her.  She  wouldn't  even 
keep  up  the  r61e  of  country  lady  which  it  had  pleased  her 
at  first  to  play.  I  saw  the  change  coming  in  the  autumn. 
She  grew  tired  of  the  part,  tired  of  the  repose,  tired  of  the 
high-bred  conventionality  of  the  life.  She  began  to 
call  herself  canaille,  to  assert  her  Bohemian  tastes,  to 
use  language  which,  coming  from  her,  revolted  me. 
Little  by  little  I  got  used  to  that.  As  she  sank  I  sank 
with  her.  There  was  something  abject  in  my  attitude 
towards  her.  There  is  still. " 

"Excuse  me,   Dick,"   said  Vassall,   uneasily,  "but 

42 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

aren't  you  telling  me  too  much?  You  needn't  give 
me  details,  you  know.  Something  may  be  left  to  my 
imagination." 

"  Keep  quiet,  old  chap,  for  Heaven's  sake,  and  let  me 
tell  the  thing  my  own  way.  Well,  to  cut  my  story 
shorter,  when  Felicia  had  had  enough  of  England  we 
went  abroad,  first  to  Paris,  then  to  Cannes,  then  to 
Egypt.  In  the  spring  we  were  back  in  Paris  again. 
b>  this  time  the  idyL  was  played  out.  I  had  grown 
to  despise  my  wife  and  yet  to  worship  her.  My  life 
was  to  run  her  errands,  my  ambition  to  satisfy  her 
fancies." 

"  You  were  her  slave  at  a  time  when  you  should  have 
been  her  master." 

"You  talk  easily,  old  boy,  because  you  talk  out  of 
your  own  experience.  You  know  the  Boston  woman 
who  is  east  wind  made  flesh,  but  you  don't  know  the 
woman  out  of  whom  you  cannot  drive  the  devil  even  by 
prayer  and  fasting.  You  don't  know  the  woman  who 
is  all  spirit  and  nerve  and  flame  and  electricity;  who 
can  be  neither  caught  nor  quenched  nor  bound  nor 
beaten  nor  broken;  who  can  quell  you  with  a  look,  or 
lash  you  to  the  bone  with  a  contemptuous  word,  or  bring 
you  cringing  and  crawling  to  her  feet  with  a  smile  or  a 
glance  of  approval.  A  story-book  woman,  you  will  say, 
no  doubt ;  the  woman- villain  in  a  melodrama ;  but,  I  tell 
you,  the  woman-  lives." 

Again  Lechmere  threw  himself  into  the  chair  beside 
Vassall,  and  made  an  effort  to  speak  calmly. 

"  In  the  spring  in  Paris  we  had  our  first  serious  quarrel. 
It  had  always  been  understood  between  us  that  she  had 
left  the  stage.  I  had  paid  her  debts — debts  of  which 
I  knew  nothing  until  we  were  in  Egypt — on  the  condition 
that  she  should  not  sing  again.  She  had  given  me  her 
promise  and  I  counted  on  it.  You  can  judge,  then,  of  my 

43 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

amazement  when  I  discovered  in  Paris  that,  even  before 
going  to  Egypt,  she  had  signed  a  contract  to  sing  at 
Covent  Garden  in  the  following  summer.  Well,  after  a 
stormy  scene  I  accepted  that.  For  once,  I  think,  she 
was  a  little  grateful.  The  time  in  London  was  fairly 
happy.  She  sang  as  she  had  never  sung  before.  It 
was  the  season  when  every  one  began  to  talk  of  her. 
Gradually  I  became  what  I  have  always  despised — the 
husband  of  the  prima  donna.  I  accompanied  her  in  the 
carriage  and  looked  after  her  wraps.  That  was  my 
business,  and  I  was  at  once  as  proud  and  as  humble  as  a 
Lord  Chamberlain  before  the  queen." 

"If  a  man  is  happy  in  his  duties,"  said  Vassall,  "I 
suppose  it  doesn't  matter  what  they  are." 

"  I  wasn't  happy,  and  yet  I  hugged  my  unhappiness. 
It  was  misery  to  be  with  her,  and  yet  it  was  death  to  be 
away." 

"And  what  during  all  that  time  were  you  to  her?" 

"  You  couldn't  tell ;  she  was  so  capricious,  so  change 
able,  so  impossible.  There  were  days  when  she  couldn't 
do  without  me ;  there  were  others  when  I  was  a  nonentity  ; 
there  were  others  still  when  the  very  sight  of  me  sent 
her  into  fits  of  rage.  You  couldn't  tell  what  change 
twenty-four  hours  would  bring  about.  In  our  house 
there  was  neither  care  nor  order.  In  the  midst  of  luxury 
we  lived  as  in  a  circus-tent.  The  tradesmen  robbed, 
the  servants  looted.  Money  lay  about  loose  in  every 
drawer,  on  every  table.  Rings  and  bracelets  to  which 
she  had  taken  a  moment's  fancy  were  flung  aside  and 
forgotten,  or  lost  at  the  theatre,  or  dropped  from  the 
carriage.  I  myself  fell  into  her  ways.  I  ceased  to  take 
any  account  of  what  came  in  or  what  went  out.  In 
spite  of  her  own  earnings  and  all  my  income  we  were 
constantly  embarrassed  for  funds.  At  the  end  of  that 
London  season  we  found  ourselves  positively  hard-up. " 

44 


Let   Not   Man    P.ut   Asunder 

"  Poor  old  Dick,"  said  Vassall,  softly,  the  sense  of  do 
mestic  and  financial  disorder  producing  on  his  practi 
cal  New  England  mind  a  deeper  impression  than  any 
story  of  a  broken  heart. 

"I  don't  believe  I  need  tell  you  any  more,  Harry," 
Lechmere  said,  with  an  abrupt  change  of  tone. 
"No,  I  think  I  can  pretty  well  guess  the  rest." 
"  Besides,  you  have  probably  read  what  came  out  in 
the  papers  when  we  were  divorced." 

" Some  of  it.     I  hadn't  the  heart  to  read  it  all." 
"It  was  worse  than  anything  that  got  into  print. 
But  let  that  be.     The  question  is,  what  am  I  to  do?" 
"What  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"  One  of  two  things  :  to  go  back  to  her  or — to  throw 
up  the  game." 

"  You  mean  by  that—  ?" 

"That  without  her  I'd  rather  be  under  ground." 
"I  wouldn't  take  that  view  of  it  if  I  were  you." 
"I  don't  take  the  view;  the  view  takes  me." 
"Don't   be   a   coward,    Dick,    and   don't   be   a   fool. 
Think  of  the  wrongs  she  has  done  you." 

"Think  of  them!  Do  I  do  anything  else  but  think 
of  them?  And  yet  I  would  go  through  them  all  again; 
I  would  bear  them  ten  times  over  and  ten  times  worse, 
only  to  get  into  her  presence,  only  to  hear  her  voice  or 
to  see  her  smile.  To  be  with  her  is  like  wine  to  me, 
Harry;  it  is  like  opium;  it  is  music  and  beauty  and 
meat  and  drink  and  passion  and  sunshine  and  health, 
and  everything  that  I  can't  do  without." 

"  If  it  is  like  that,  and  you  are  telling  me  the  truth — " 
"Upon  my  soul." 

"Then  in  your  place  I  would  take  the  woman  back." 
"Take  her?     Suppose  she  won't  come?" 
"Make  her;  force  her;  break  her   spirit;   beat  her 
down." 

45 


Let  Not  Man   Put    Asunder 

Lechmere  laughed  scornfully. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Dick, "  said  Vassall,  springing  to  his 
feet,  while  Lechmere  remained  seated.  "  You  have 
gone  about  this  whole  business  in  the  wrong  way  from 
the  first.  As  you  say,  you've  been  abject.  You  have 
reversed  the  situation  in  which  a  man  ought  to  stand 
towards  his  wife.  You  have  put  her  first  instead  of 
second." 

"She  could  never  come  second  to  any  one." 

"Except  you.  Remember  this,  that  nature  made 
the  man  to  lead  and  the  woman  to  follow ;  that  law  and 
gospel  and  common-sense  alike  require  that  the  hus 
band  shall  command  and  the  wife  obey.  Change  that 
order,  and  the  result  must  be  some  sort  of  topsy-turvey- 
dom,  a  comic-opera  life  of  quarrels  and  caprices  and 
divorces." 

"And  if  she  will  not  obey?" 

"Make  her  obey.  Tame  her  as  Petruchio  tamed 
Katherine.  What  is  a  man  fit  for  if  he  can't  control 
a  woman?  A  woman  naturally  has  her  place  in  the 
great  scheme  of  things,  but  it  is  a  second  place.  She 
must  be  put  there  and  kept  there.  She  will  slip  out  if 
she  can,  but  she  must  be  driven  back  again.  Mind 
you,  her  own  happiness  depends  upon  it.  She  must 
be  kept  in  subjection,  or  there  will  be  the  devil  to  pay 
everywhere.  She  is  in  our  lives  what  the  fire  is  in 
our  chimneys.  We  need  it  for  warmth  and  comfort 
and  all  the  arts  of  civilization.  But  it  must  be  kept 
just  there.  Once  let  it  get  beyond  its  proper  confines, 
and  the  whole  house  burns  down.  A  wife  is  at  once 
the  greatest  joy  and  the  greatest  danger  in  a  man's 
life.  In  her  place,  she  is  an  angel;  out  of  her  place, 
she  can  be  the  very  devil.  Yield  to  her  once,  and 
she  will  expect  you  to  yield  again;  give  her  an  inch, 
and  she  will  take  an  ell.  When  she  is  ruled,  there 

46 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

is  order;  when  she  is  obeyed,  there  is  anarchy.  We 
good,  soft  -  hearted  Americans,  with  our  easy  -  going 
ways  and  our  false  notions  of  chivalry,  have  adopted 
a  foolish  habit  of  thinking  she  must  hold  the  reins  and 
wield  the  whip.  The  result  is  that  so  many  of  our 
married  couples  are  driving  like  fury  to  disaster.  That 
is  what  creates  the  Divorce  Court.  We  have  set  up 
Woman  on  a  sort  of  little  throne;  we  have  put  a  crown 
of  tinsel  on  her  head  and  a  wooden  sceptre  in  her  hand. 
The  result  has  been  to  make  her  silly  and  preten 
tious,  unequal  to  the  position,  and  yet  unwilling  to 
come  down." 

"Have  you  said  all  this  to  Miss  Faneuil,  old 
boy?" 

"If  Miss  Faneuil  marries  me  and  needs  the  lesson, 
she  will  learn  it  at  the  proper  time.  But  to  return  to 
you,  Dick.  If  you  want  my  advice  it  is  this.  Go  back 
to  your  wife.  Find  her,  wherever  she  is.  Drag  her 
out  of  the  life  she  is  leading — " 

"But  the  divorce?" 

"  Treat  it  as  waste  paper.  You  have  both  will  and 
wealth;  you  can  do  as  you  please  then.  You  love 
this  woman;  you  say  you  cannot  live  without  her. 
Take  her,  then.  If  you  can  condone  her  conduct 
and  her  character,  take  her  and  keep  her.  Force  her ; 
bring  her  to  her  knees;  you  can  find  a  way  to  do  it. 
Pursue  her ;  persecute  her ;  be  brutal  to  her,  if  you  will ; 
but  do  what  you  want  to  do.  After  all,  she  is  your 
wife.  All  the  divorces  in  the  world  cannot  undo  the 
tie  that  has  been  formed  between  you.  You  have  just 
two  courses,  then.  If  you  want  her,  take  her,  I  say, 
whether  she  will  or  no.  If  you  don't  want  her,  toss 
her  back  into  the  mire  whence  you  pulled  her  out,  and 
think  no  more  about  her." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  Vassall  jerked  the  glovv- 

47 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

ing  end  of  his  cigarette  over  the  balustrade  into  the  lawn 
below.  Lechmere  hesitated  before  speaking. 

"  I  gave  you  the  right,  Harry,  old  friend,  to  talk  to  me 
like  that,  therefore  I  ought  not  to  feel  any  resentment. 
I  will  think  over  what  you  have  said,  and  all  that  is 
possible  in  your  advice  I  will  follow.  If  not,  I  will — " 

"  What?"  Vassall  asked,  as  Lechmere  rose. 

"Go  to  sleep." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  best  thing  for  both  of  us  to  do." 

"I  want  a  long  sleep — a  long,  long  sleep." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  Dick,"  said  Vassall,  as  the  two 
clasped  hands.  "  It  is  weak  and — and — " 

"Ridiculous.     Yes,  I  know." 

"Remember  that  I  stand  with  you,  whatever  comes." 

"  Don't  promise,  old  chap.  The  day  may  come  when 
you  too  may  give  me  up." 

"Oh,  go  to  bed.  You've  smoked  too  much,  and 
talked  too  much,  and  drank  too  much  chartreuse.  Go 
to  bed  and  sleep  on  what  I've  said  to  you,  and  you'll 
get  up  to-morrow  a  wiser  and  a  bolder  man." 

"Good-night,  old  friend,  and  thanks." 

"Good-night,  then." 

Vassall  went  into  his  room,  shut  the  window,  and 
drew  down  the  curtain. 

Lechmere  remained  on  the  balcony  looking  at  the 
stars. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHEN  Mrs.  Faneuil's  note  arrived  in  the  morning 
with  an  invitation  to  luncheon,  Vassall  accepted ;  Lech- 
mere  found  a  reason  for  declining. 

This  was  as  Petrina  hoped.  She  wanted  a  quiet  talk 
with  Vassall,  chiefly  to  give  him  the  news,  which  she 
was  sure  he  had  not  yet  received,  of  his  sister's  separa 
tion  from  her  husband.  Lady  de  Bohun  wrote  seldom 
to  her  brother.  She  was  older  than  he,  and  since  his 
boyhood  there  had  been  little  sympathy  between  them. 
Vassall  had  paid  occasional  visits  to  Orpington  Park, 
but  always  with  an  increased  disapproval  of  his  sister's 
manner  of  life.  He  liked  his  brother-in-law,  but  looked 
upon  him  as  indolent,  and  indifferent  to  his  own  wel 
fare.  While  keeping  aloof  from  his  sister,  Vassall  was 
jealous  of  her  reputation  and  sensitive  to  any  gossip  in 
which  her  name  was  involved.  That  this  latest  intel 
ligence  should  come  to  him  and  his  mother  as  gently  as 
possible,  Petrina  meant  to  break  the  news  herself. 

Interference  with  this  kindly  plan  came  from  a  quite 
unexpected  quarter.  Petrina  had  just  put  the  last 
touches  to  her  pretty  autumnal  costume  of  golden  brown 
and  mauve  when,  looking  from  her  bedroom  window, 
she  saw  coming  up  the  avenue  a  cumbrous  country 
cariole  in  which  were  seated  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tyrell  and 
Gentian. 

"Horrors,  mamma!"  Petrina  cried  into  the  adjoining 
room.  "Do  look  out.  Here  come  the  bride  and  bride 
groom." 

o  49 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Nonsense,  child!"  Mrs.  Faneuil  replied,  continuing 
to  twist  and  turn  before  the  pier-glass.  "  They're  still 
on  their  honeymoon.  It  must  be  some  one  else." 

"But  it  is,  mamma.  There;  Gentian  sees  me.  She 
is  waving  her  handkerchief." 

"You're  quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  who  had 
gone  to  the  window.  "It  is  Maria;  yes,  and  Gentian; 
yes,  and  Mr.  Tyrell  too." 

"  Do  go  and  make  sure  that  there  is  enough  for  lunch 
eon,"  said  Petrina.  "  I  will  go  down  and  receive 
them." 

"We've  come  to  lunch,"  cried  Mrs.  Tyrell,  as  the 
carriage  drew  up  at  the  steps. 

"We  are  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Petrina,  who 
stood  on  the  veranda  and  tried  to  be  cordial.  "But 
you  seem  to  have  dropped  from  the  skies.  We  thought 
you  were  still  in  Europe." 

"Papa  had  business  which  brought  us  home  unex 
pectedly,"  Gentian  explained,  while  Mrs.  Tyrell  de 
scended  heavily  from  the  cariole.  "We  came  in  the 
Titanic.  We  knew  you'd  be  simply  crazy  to  see  papa 
and  mamma,  and  so  we  came  up  to  the  hotel  at  Deane. 
We've  driven  over  from  there  just  to  get  your  congrat- 
ulations.  You  know  we've  never  had  them — have  we, 
mamma?  Have  we,  papa?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  delighted  to  offer  them,"  Petrina  said, 
with  an  effort  to  be  gracious.  She  kissed  first  Mrs. 
Tyrell  and  then  Gentian,  who  skipped  lightly  over  the 
wheel  from  the  back  seat. 

"  Do  let  me  introduce  papa,"  Gentian  said,  in  the  deep 
tones  of  a  high-priestess  about  to  unveil  a  sacred  image. 
"  It  is  so  dear  to  have  a  papa — so  dear  and  so  strange. 
Papa,  this  is  Cousin  Petrina,  whom  you  have  never  seen. 
Petrina,  this  is  my  papa,  doubly,  trebly  mine  since  I 
have  seen  him  married  to  mamma." 

50 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Mr.  Tyrell  turned,  after  having  given  an  order  to  the 
coachman,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  my  dear 
young  lady/'  he  said,  stiffly.  "  I  suppose  I  should  have 
known  you  long  ago  but  for  circumstances — that  is  to 
say,  circumstances — " 

"  Over  which  you  had  no  control,"  said  Petrina,  laugh 
ing. 

"Precisely  so,"  said  Mr.  Tyrell,  with  a  stiff  little  bow. 
"The  fates  were  against  me." 

"  Not  entirely,  papa/'  said  Gentian,  holding  up  a  re 
proving  finger,  "since  you  had  me.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  compelling  Fate;  and  I  have  done  it,  haven't 
I,  papa?" 

"You  have,  indeed,  my  dear." 

Mr.  Tyrell  was  a  small  man  of  sixty,  with  thin  gray 
hair  and  beard.  His  eyes  were  blue  and  weak;  his 
expression  one  of  suppressed  dissatisfaction  with  the 
world.  He  was  extremely  neat,  and  wore  handsome 
but  unobtrusive  jewelry.  The  fine  cabochon  ruby 
which  glowed  against  his  white  silk  scarf  had  its  mate 
on  the  little  finger  of  his  small  left  hand.  He  was  com 
monly  supposed  to  say  little,  but,  in  compensation,  to 
think  much. 

Miss  Gentian  Tyrell  was  the  young  and  feminine 
reproduction  of  her  father:  small,  neat,  too  conscious 
ly  elegant,  poseuse  and  precieuse.  She  was  pretty  but 
pretentious,  clever  but  sententious.  She  was  too  much 
aware  of  living  on  a  high  level  and  too  openly  determined 
to  drag  other  people  up  to  it.  Men  found  her  an  agree 
able  neighbor  at  dinner  for  the  first  half-hour,  and  then 
wondered  why  her  conversation  was  so  fatiguing. 

Looking  at  Mrs.  Tyrell,  any  one  would  have  understood 
why  she  and  Mr.  Tyrell  had  lived  apart  for  five-and- 
twenty  years.  They  had  been,  in  fact,  divorced  in 

51 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Gentian's  infancy ;  and  the  wonder  was  that  they  should 
have  married  in  the  first  place.  It  was  not  merely  that 
she  was  much  taller  and  larger  than  he  (for  love  is  not 
always  guided  by  a  suitability  in  size),  but  you  could 
see  that  their  tendencies  were  different.  It  was  evident 
at  a  glance  that  Mr.  Tyrell's  taste  would  be  for  a  small 
place  in  the  country,  and  for  life  in  a  modest  style ;  Mrs. 
Tyrell's  for  a  large  place  in  the  town,  and  for  life  on  a 
footing  consistent  with  a  generous  income.  Here  were 
the  rocks  on  which  their  barque  of  early  happiness  had 
gone  to  pieces.  Mrs.  Tyrell,  as  a  young  woman,  had 
no  mind  for  her  husband's  humdrum  life,  and  so  she 
had  taken  an  early  opportunity  of  slipping  from  it, 
carrying  her  child  and  a  handsome  alimony  with  her. 
Henceforth  she  had  her  house  in  Beacon  Street,  while 
Mr.  Tyrell  found  repose  in  a  small  place  in  the  Newtons. 
Mrs.  Tyrell  had  become  a  patroness  of  liberal  literature, 
new  religions,  and  drawing-room  readings.  Mr.  Tyrell 
had  given  himself  to  the  gentle  pursuits  of  bee-keeping 
and  growing  flowers. 

Under  these  circumstances  all  had  gone  well  until 
their  daughter  had  budded  towards  womanhood.  As 
early  as  at  the  age  of  seventeen  Miss  Gentian  Tyrell 
was  aware  that  she  had  a  mission — that  of  re-marrying 
her  parents.  No  Iphigenia,  no  Jeanne  d'Arc,  was  ever 
more  consciously  dedicated  to  a  cause  than  Gentian 
to  the  reunion  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tyrell.  She  worked 
for  it,  wept  for  it,  fought  for  it,  and  would  have  prayed 
for  it,  only  that  in  most  of  the  new  religions  through 
which  Gentian  had  passed  prayer  was  considered  a 
slight  upon  the  Almighty.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tyrell  had 
halted,  hesitated,  struggled,  wriggled,  advanced,  reced 
ed,  consented,  refused,  and  shown  themselves  difficult 
in  many  ways ;  but  in  the  end  Gentian  had  had  the  re 
ward  which  rarely  fails  to  crown  persistency  and  pluck ; 

52 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

her  parents  became  engaged.  The  fact  was  duly 
chronicled  in  the  press,  and  sheaves  of  American  Beauty 
roses  were  sent  to  Mrs.  Tyrell  by  Gentian's  friends. 
For  the  affianced  couple  it  was  like  a  second  spring 
time.  Mrs.  Tyrell,  who  was  well  into  August,  and  Mr. 
Tyrell,  who  was  in  full  October,  went  back  as  it  were 
to  May.  There  were  festal  dinners  in  Beacon  Street 
"to  meet  Mr.  Tyrell,"  and  five-o'clock  teas  at  Newton 
in  honor  of  the  coming  bride.  Mrs.  Tyrell  wore  an 
engagement  -  ring  and  felt  the  situation  most  roman 
tic.  Mr.  Tyrell  kept  as  much  as  possible  out  of 
sight  and  wished  the  ceremony  over.  At  the  wed 
ding  Mrs.  Tyrell  was  dressed  in  pearl -gray,  like  a 
widow;  and  Gentian  gave  the  bride  away.  Cards 
were  sent  out  engraved  with  the  statement  that 
"Miss  Gentian  Tyrell  announces  the  remarriage  of 
her  father  and  mother,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jackson  Tyrell," 
and  then  the  newly  wedded  pair,  with  their  enterpris 
ing  child,  went  off  to  Europe. 

Mrs.  Tyrell  and  Mrs.  Faneuil  were  sisters;  they  had 
been  in  their  youth  "  the  pretty  Miss  Phillipses. "  Any 
one  who  now  saw  them  embracing  on  the  veranda 
would  have  noticed  the  resemblance,  as  well  as  the 
difference,  between  them.  Mrs.  Tyrell  made  you  think 
of  Mrs.  Faneuil,  as  a  peony  suggests  a  rose.  Mrs. 
Tyrell  was  handsome,  Mrs.  Faneuil  pretty;  Mrs.  Tyrell 
was  big  and  beaming,  Mrs.  Faneuil  plump  and  buxom  ; 
Mrs.  Tyrell  had  the  air  of  a  professional  lady- pa 
troness,  Mrs.  Faneuil  that  of  a  practical  matron  in  her 
home. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Isadora,  do  congratulate  them!"  Gentian 
cried,  when  every  one  had  kissed. 

"I  did  so  when  they  were  married  seven-and-twenty 
years  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  "  and  it  seemed  to  bring 
them  bad  luck." 

53 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"  But  they  didn't  have  me  then/'  said  Gentian,  archly. 

"I  should  hope  not,"  Mrs.  Faneuil  replied,  bluntly. 

"If  at  first  you  don't  succeed,  try,  try  again,"  said 
Mr.  Tyrell.  It  was  his  one  facetious  formula  on  the 
subject  of  his  second  matrimonial  venture.  He  used 
it  whenever  ^.  remark  seemed  called  for  and  nothing 
more  original  was  at  hand. 

"  Well,  I  respect  your  courage,  Maria ;  and  yours  too, 
Jackson." 

"They  say  it's  a  wise  child  that  knows  its  own  fa 
ther,"  simpered  Mrs.  Tyrell,  "but  Gentian  has  made 
a  match  for  hers." 

"I  suppose  you  had  something  to  do  with  it,  Mrs. 
Tyrell,"  said  Petrina,  who  had  been  standing  some 
what  apart,  trying  to  conceal  her  annoyance. 

"I?  Oh,  little  or  nothing.  Gentian  did  it,  dear  child. 
It  was  quite  an  original  idea,  wasn't  it?" 

"I  could  never  have  carried  it  out,"  said  Gentian, 
in  her  deep  voice  and  precieuse  distinctness  of  utter 
ance,  "  if  it  had  not  been  for  Spiritual  Science.  I  used 
to  sit  for  hours  at  a  time  and  just  will  it." 

"I  thought  you  had  given  that  up,"  said  Mrs.  Fan 
euil. 

"Mamma  has.  I  haven't — yet.  I  couldn't  do  with 
out  it.  It  lifts  one  up  so.  It  shows  one  how  futile  are 
the  ends  for  which  other  people  live." 

"One  can  see  that  easily  enough  without  Spiritual 
Science,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil. 

"And  then  the  nothingness  of  everything  is  such  a 
subtle,  consoling  truth  that  I  wonder  how  people  ex 
ist  who  don't  believe  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  surprised  at  you,  Maria/'  Mrs.  Faneuil 
broke  in.  "  When  I  last  saw  you  Spiritual  Science  was 
a  mania  with  you." 

"  I  have  no  longer  any  faith  in  the  Western  systems," 

54 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

said  Mrs.  Tyrell,  with  a  touch  of  sadness.  "  I  am  sorry 
not  to  be  able  to  accept  the  simple  creeds  in  which  so 
many  of  my  friends  can  trust,  but  I  have  long  been 
conscious  that  the  Western  religions  do  not  touch  the 
heart  of  life." 

"Mamma  has  joined  the  Initiated/'  said  Gentian. 

"The  what?"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil. 

"The  Initiated,"  repeated  Mrs.  Tyrell.  "We  study 
the  Eastern  Mysteries." 

"Good  gracious!"  Mrs.  Faneuil  cried.  "It  sounds 
terribly  suggestive.  I  hope  they're  not  indecent.  Do 
you  study  them  in  Boston?" 

"  We  have  begun,  but  of  course  our  headquarters  are 
at  Delhi.  We  are  a  little  band  as  yet,  but  I  think  we 
shall  soon  have  a  light  to  give  to  the  world." 

"Don't  go  enlightening  the  world,  Maria,  whatever 
else  you  do.  It  is  labor  in  vain.  But  what  do  you  do? 
What  do  you  learn?  Any  of  those  wonderful  conjur 
ing  tricks  that  we  saw  in  Cairo?" 

"It  is  a  purely  esoteric  religion,"  said  Mrs.  Tyrell, 
lowering  her  eyes  modestly  and  letting  her  handsome 
eyelids  fall.  "We  are  forbidden  to  speak  of  our  doc 
trines  to  non-believers." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  it  is  something  indecent.  Jackson, 
keep  your  eye  on  her.  Or  are  you  studying  Eastern 
Mysteries  yourself?" 

"  I  have  two  Western  mysteries  to  engage  my  atten 
tion  now,"  said  Mr.  Tyrell,  with  a  thin  smile  at  his  own 
witticism. 

"You  won't  find  them  difficult  to  see  through,  I 
think,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  laughing.  "  But  come  up 
stairs  to  your  ablutions.  Mysteries  and  ablutions  seem 
to  go  together,  don't  they?" 

"  Libations,  Aunt  Isadora,"  Gentian  corrected.  "  Mam 
ma  has  a  little  shrine  at  home  before  which  she  offers  a 

55 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

libation  of  wine  from  a  shallow  golden  bowl  three  times 
a  day.  It's  very  pretty,  really,  and  so  classic,  too.  It 
makes  mamma  look  like  a  figure  on  a  Pompeiian  vase, 
doesn't  it,  mamma?  Doesn't  it,  papa?" 

"Do  you  assist,  Jackson?"  Mrs.  Faneuil  asked,  as 
they  turned  to  enter  the  house.  "  Libations  of  wine 
three  times  a  day  is  a  rather  expensive  form  of  wor 
ship,  I  should  think." 

"It's  California  wine,"  Mr.  Tyrell  explained,  prompt 
ly,  "and  Maria  buys  it  in  the  wood." 

The  bride  and  bridegroom,  with  their  daughter,  fol 
lowed  Mrs.  Faneuil  up-stairs.  Petrina  remained  on  the 
veranda  alone  with  her  ill-humor.  She  was  impatient 
for  Vassall's  arrival,  but  before  he  came  the  whole 
party  had  descended.  The  instant  the  slight  confu 
sion  caused  by  his  greetings  had  passed,  Vassall  found 
his  attention  caught  by  Gentian's  deep,  musical  voice 
and  distinct  enunciation. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Vassall,"  she  said.  "I  am  so  glad  to  meet 
you.  It  seems  as  if  I  already  knew  you,  though  I  think 
we've  never  met  in  Boston.  But  I  know  your  sister 
so  well.  In  fact,  we  have  just  come  from  seeing  her." 

Petrina,  who  had  observed  Gentian's  seizure  of  Vas 
sall,  and  who  disdained  all  small  feminine  manoeu 
vres,  now  became  alarmed.  Gentian  was  quite  capable 
of  bringing  up  the  subject  of  Lady  de  Bohun's  separa 
tion  from  Sir  Humphrey. 

"  Luncheon  is  ready,  mother,"  Petrina  said,  with  the 
intention  of  causing  a  diversion.  "  Had  we  not  better 
go  in?" 

The  move  was  successful.  Vassall  had  time  only 
to  bow  and  smile  and  murmur  some  inarticulate  phrase 
before  he  found  himself  drawn  into  the  little  irregular 
procession  which  began  to  move  towards  the  dining- 
room.  There,  for  the  first  few  minutes,  Petrina  felt  safe. 

56 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

She  had  placed  Vassall  between  Gentian  and  Mrs. 
Tyrell ;  but  the  conversation  turned  first  on  the  beauty 
of  the  room,  with  its  Chippendale  furniture  and  its 
colored  prints,  and  then  on  the  magnificence  of  the 
world  outside,  with  its  autumn-painted  summits  surging 
like  crests  on  some  wonderful  woodland  sea.  From 
their  places  at  the  table  they  could  look  up  at  the  moun 
tain  and  down  at  the  lake;  they  could  even  point  out 
to  each  other  the  far,  irregular  line  of  the  Green  Moun 
tains  of  Vermont. 

"  And  yet  I  sigh  for  England,"  said  Gentian  to  Vassall 
in  her  deepest  tones.  "This  vast  beauty  appals  me. 
It  almost  makes  my  vision  ache." 

"  Why  not  sit  with  your  back  to  it,  then?"  said  Mrs. 
Faneuil. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  were  up  among  the  spirits  of  the  air," 
Gentian  continued  to  Vassall,  but  with  a  faint  smile 
towards  Mrs.  Faneuil,  just  enough  to  acknowledge  the 
fact  that  she  had  spoken.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  were  with  Man 
fred  on  the  Jungfrau  or  with  Mephistopheles  on  the 
Brocken.  It  is  too  much,  too  great;  my  spirit  reels. 
Now  in  England  all  is  prettily  adapted  to  the  common 
life  of  man.  At  Orpington  Park — " 

"Gentian,  do  have  another  cutlet,"  Petrina  inter 
rupted.  "  You  are  eating  nothing. " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Petrina  dear.     Don't  think  of  me." 

"You  must  be  hungry  after  your  long  drive  from 
Deane.  Wasn't  it  tiring?" 

"Not  very.  But  as  I  was  saying,  Mr.  Vassall,  at 
Orpington  Park — " 

"Reynolds,  pass  Miss  Tyrell  the  peas,"  said  Mrs. 
Faneuil,  who  seized  Petrina's  idea.  "Mr.  Vassall,  if 
you  keep  that  child  talking  so  she'll  starve.  It  will 
need  something  stronger  than  a  libation  of  California 
wine  to  make  her  fit  to  drive  back  to  Deane," 

57 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

But  Vassall  himself  walked  into,  the  danger  from 
which  Petrina  and  her  mother  would  have  kept  him. 

"  Miss  Tyrell  tells  me  that  she  knows  Emmy/'  he  said, 
leaning  slightly  towards  Petrina. 

It  was  the  first  time  since  he  had  arrived  that  they  har' 
a  chance  to  look  each  other  in  the  eyes.  Petrina  was 
vexed  to  find  herself  almost  blushing.  It  unnerved  her 
for  taking  that  lead  in  the  conversation  which  she  would 
otherwise  have  seized. 

"Oh,  yes/'  said  Mrs.  Tyrell.  "We  know  Lady  de 
Bohun  very  intimately.  We  were  at  Orpington  Park 
just  before  we  sailed." 

"We  went  down  to  luncheon/'  Gentian  explained. 
"It  was  such  a  pleasure  to  find  dear  Lady  de  Bohun 
bearing  up  so  well." 

"Emmy  is  quite  able  to  manage  her  own  affairs/' 
said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  with  a  look  at  her  sister  which  was 
meant  to  convey  unspeakable  hints  as  to  the  necessity 
for  letting  the  subject  drop. 

"  Quite  so/'  Mrs.  Tyrell  assented,  with  no  understand 
ing  of  Mrs.  Faneuil's  pantomime.  "  In  fact,  I  told  her  so. 
I  told  her  that  I  thought  she  was  acting  very  wisely  and 
that  other  people  would  surely  come  round  to  her  way 
of  thinking." 

"What  Emmy  needs  most,"  said  Vassall,  frankly, 
"is  not  to  make  other  people  think  like  her,  but  to  think 
like  other  people.  She  is  apt  to  be  too  independent — " 

"  But  not  here,"  said  Gentian,  promptly.  "  Every  one 
thinks  her  so  wise.  She  has  carried  herself  in  the  most 
tactful  way." 

"Gentian  has  been  of  the  greatest  help  to  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Tyrell,  sympathetically. 

"Gentian  is  always  so  helpful,"  said  Petrina,  des 
perately.  "  Do  you  remember  that  time  when  I  should 
have  sprained  my  ankle  if — " 

58 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Faneuil,  wildly  following  Pe- 
trina's  lead.  "What  presence  of  mind  you  displayed, 
child!  I've  often  meant  to  ask  you  the  name  of  that 
liniment  you  used,  but  each  time  I  see  you — " 

"Has  my  sister  sprained  her  ankle?"  Vassall  asked, 
in  some  perplexity.  "My  mother  hasn't  heard  any 
thing  about  it." 

"  No,  she  was  playing  golf  when  we  were  there,"  said 
Gentian.  "We  were  so  delighted  to  see  that  she  had 
the  heart  for  it.  Even  Sir  Humphrey,  when  we  told 
him  of  it  in  London,  said  it  was  the  best  thing  she  could 
do.  He  thought  it  would  keep  her  from  brooding  over 
things." 

"She  has  never  been  inclined  to  do  that,"  said 
Vassall. 

"  But  now  everything  is  so  changed  for  her,  poor  thing. 
I  have  been  through  it  all,  so  that  I  know  what  it  must 
be."  Mrs.  Tyrell  simpered,  with  the  romantic  manner 
she  assumed  in  alluding  to  her  matrimonial  vicissitudes. 
"But  I  hope  their  trouble  may  end  as  ours  has  done, 
Jackson;  I  hope  and  pray  that  it  may." 

"You  don't  mean  that  you'll  pray,  but  that  you'll 
pour  out  a  libation  of  California  wine  for  it,  Maria,"  said 
Mrs.  Faneuil,  scornfully.  "But  let  us  change  the  sub 
ject.  Other  people's  affairs — " 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  said  Vassall,  looking  in 
mystification  from  one  to  the  other.  "  Have  any  of  the 
children  been  ill?  Has  Humphrey — ?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Gentian,  warmly — so  warmly  that  Pe- 
trina  looked  at  her  with  new  attention  and  a  new  idea 
dawning  in  her  mind — "  nothing  could  exceed  Sir  Hum 
phrey's  kindness,  consideration,  and  tact  —  nothing. 
Even  Lady  de  Bohun  says  so.  She  says  he  has  been 
a  gentleman  through  and  through.  Oh  no,  Mr.  Vas 
sall  !  Don't  think  Sir  Humphrey  has  been  to  blame. 

59 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

It  may  be  unfortunate,  but,  seeing  them  both  so  inti 
mately  as  I  have,  I  cannot  but  think  that  all  is  for  the 
best." 

Vassall  flushed.     He  was  beginning  to  understand. 

"You  must  think  me  very  dull  of  comprehension," 
he  began,  turning  towards  Mrs.  Tyrell,  "but — " 

"  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  Emmy,  Mr.  Vas 
sall,"  Petrina  interrupted,  nervously.  "I  will  let  you 
see  it  after  luncheon.  That  will  explain  everything." 

"Goodness  me!"  Mrs.  Tyrell  cried;  "do  you  mean  to 
say  that  Mr.  Vassall  doesn't  know  his  sister  has  left 
her  husband?  I  am  sure  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons. 
I  never  should  have  blundered  into  such  a  subject  if  I 
had  had  the  least  idea." 

"You  never  do  have  an  idea,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Fan- 
euil,  positively  angry.  "Suppose  you  were  to  give 
up  the  study  of  Eastern  Mysteries  for  that  of  Western 
common-sense?  In  your  place,  I  should  pour  out  this 
very  moment  a  libation  to  all  the  false  gods  in  Boston. 
It  is  true,  we  haven't  any  California  wine  in  the  house, 
but  here  is  excellent  Rudesheimer,  and  there  is  sherry 
on  the  sideboard." 

"Maria  didn't  mean  anything,  Isadora,"  said  Mr. 
Tyrell,  bridling,  and  feeling  called  upon  to  do  a  hus 
band's  part.  "Naturally,  she  thought  that  a  subject 
which  was  in  all  the  English  papers  could  not  be  un 
known  to  the  family  most  concerned." 

"My  dear  Jackson,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  laughing 
and  trying  to  pretend  that  she  was  not  annoyed,  "will 
you  have  the  goodness  to  hold  your  tongue?  We  know 
all  about  it.  Emmy  and  Sir  Humphrey  are  probably 
by  this  time  as  good  friends  as  Maria  and  you,  and 
with  much  less  fuss  about  it. " 

"In  any  case,"  said  Mrs.  Tyrell,  in  her  own  defence, 
"we  are  a  family  party  here.  It  is  perhaps  as  well, 

60 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

since  Mr.  Vassall  had  not  heard  the  sad  news  before, 
that  he  should  receive  it  from  us,  rather  than  from  out 
siders." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mrs.  Tyrell,"  said  Vassall,, 
mastering  his  irritation  at  sight  of  Petrina's  distress. 
"I  am  really  much  obliged  to  you  for  telling  me.  As 
you  say,"  he  added,  looking  straight  at  Petrina,  "we 
are  like  a  family  party  here.  We  need  have  no  secrets 
of  this  kind  from  each  other.  Naturally,  the  subject  is 
a  serious  one  to  me,  and  equally  so  to  my  poor  mother. 
If  my  sister  is  in  trouble,  I  ought  to  go  to  her." 

"I  don't  think  it  is  so  serious  as  that,"  said  Gentian. 
"  Lady  de  Bohun  spoke  of  everything  as  being  arranged 
quite  to  her  satisfaction.  Sir  Humphrey  has  been  so 
delicate  in  all  his  provision  for  her  comfort.  In  fact, 
she  practically  dictated  her  own  terms.  Sir  Humphrey 
yielded  to  her  in  everything." 

"Gentian  means,"  said  Petrina,  looking  at  Vassall 
with  sympathy,  "  that  when  Emmy  wished  to  have  an 
establishment  quite  of  her  own,  Sir  Humphrey  left 
Orpington  Park  and  went  into  chambers." 

"He  preferred  to  turn  out  himself,"  said  Gentian, 
"  rather  than  that  she  should  be  disturbed.  He  is  more 
than  noble." 

"He  is  a  very  good  fellow,"  said  Vassall,  calmly 
going  on  with  his  luncheon.  "  It  is  a  pity  Emmy  and 
he  have  not  been  able  to  hit  it  off  together  a  little  longer. 
Hippolyta  is  a  charming  girl,  and  as  good  as  gold. 
Didn't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Tyrell?" 

Petrina  liked  Vassall 's  quietness  and  tact.  She 
knew  that  he  had  been  both  surprised  and  hurt,  and 
yet  he  had  led  them  all  out  of  the  moment's  awkward 
ness. 

"There  really  has  been  no  actual  trouble  between 
Emmy  and  Sir  Humphrey,"  she  said,  imitating  Vas- 

61 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

sail's  self-control.  "  Her  letter  gives  all  the  details,  as 
you  will  see.  There  is  nothing  in  it  to  distress  Mrs. 
Vassall — much. " 

"That's  good/'  said  Vassall.  "She  is  the  one  to  be 
most  thought  of." 

Then,  by  common  consent,  the  subject  was  dropped, 
and  Mr.  Tyrell  began  to  compare  the  merits  of  the  big 
new  liner  Titanic  with  those  of  her  rival,  the  Sicilia. 


CHAPTER  V 

LUNCHEON  ended,  the  party  returned  to  the  veranda 
for  coffee.  Vassall  stood,  cup  in  hand,  somewhat 
remote  from  the  others,  and  looked  out  silently  over 
the  panorama  of  wooded  mountains.  The  slight  flush 
upon  his  lean  and  sun-tanned  cheek  made  it  evident  to 
Petrina  that  he  had  felt  the  conversation  at  the  table 
more  keenly  than  he  had  shown.  F.or  the  first  time 
she  was  conscious  of  that  motherly  element  in  her  regard 
which  tinges  the  affection  most  women  feel  for  the  men 
they  love.  She  wanted  to  comfort  him. 

"  Don't  stay  here,"  she  said,  going  up  to  him.  "  Come 
down  to  the  lake. " 

"Gladly,"  he  answered.  "  And  won't  you  bring  that 
letter  with  you?" 

"  Wait  a  minute  while  I  put  on  a  hat. " 

There  was  something  intimate  in  their  tone  towards 
each  other,  something  new  to-day,  something  which 
seemed  to  separate  them  distinctly  from  the  four  who 
were  laughing  and  gossiping  at  the  other  end  of  the 
veranda. 

When,  a  little  later,  Petrina  returned,  Vassall  was 
impressed  anew  with  that  suggestion  of  mystery  in  her 
which  baffled  Lechmere.  She  was  a  striking  figure, 
quiet  yet  commanding,  feminine  yet  with  a  touch  of 
something  almost  to  be  feared.  In  looking  at  her  you 
wondered  whether  her  charm  lay  in  beauty  or  in  fascina 
tion,  and  whether  behind  that  delicately  sphinx-like  face 
there  lay  all  the  emotions  of  the  normal  human  heart. 

63 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"We  are  going  to  the  lake,"  she  called  to  the  others, 
as  Vassall  joined  her.  "Don't  go  before  we  return. 
We  shall  not  be  long." 

"We  have  no  intention  of  hurrying,"  Gentian  replied. 
"  Aunt  Isadora  is  in  a  mocking  mood,  and  we  are  furnish 
ing  sport." 

"I  am  only  curious  about  the  Eastern  Mysteries," 
said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  as  Vassall  and  Petrina  passed  near 
their  group  and  reached  the  avenue.  "Maria  owns 
up  that  they  are  not  what  we  should  call  moral ;  but  then 
she  thinks  that  on  the  subject  of  morals  we  hold  nar 
row  views.  I  wonder  how  she  would  have  us  broaden 
them?" 

"  I  am  extremely  sorry,"  said  Petrina,  when  they  were 
well  out  of  hearing,  "  not  to  have  told  you  about  Emmy's 
letter  yesterday.  I  meant  to  have  done  so,  but  there 
seemed  no  chance  when  Mr.  Lechmere  was  here." 

"  I  wish  you  had,"  Vassall  answered,  simply.  "  Bad 
news  is  always  bad,  but  it  sometimes  makes  a  difference 
from  whom  we  hear  it." 

"I  wanted  you  to  receive  it  from  me.  I  thought  it 
might  seem  gentler." 

"Much  gentler.  Even  as  it  is,  it  is  less  annoying 
since  you  are  sharing  it." 

"I  should  naturally  want  to  do  that.  During  the 
last  few  years  I  have  been  so  much  with  Emmy  that  she 
seems  rather  like  my  .sister  than  like  yours." 

"You  don't  think  I  am  not  fond  of  her?  I  am.  Up 
to  the  time  of  her  marriage  no  brother  and  sister  could 
have  been  more  devoted.  Even  afterwards,  when  she 
first  went  to  live  in  England,  and  the  children  were  still 
babies,  we  wrote  to  each  other  constantly.  It  has  been 
only  within  five  years  that  I  have  seen  a  change  in  her 
— a  change  that  I  could  never  bring  myself  to  ap 
prove." 

64 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"Don't  you  think  you  may  misjudge  her? — that  you 
may  be  too  hard  on  her?" 

"  No,  Miss  Faneuil.  Emmy  is  an  excellent  example 
of  a  certain  modern  type — the  young  woman  who  has 
been  brought  up  carefully,  modestly,  and  religiously; 
who  marries  into  a  new  and  more  brilliant  world;  who 
goes  among  people  who  hold  views  which  she  has  been 
taught  to  consider  lax,  and  who  uphold  a  standard  of 
conduct  which  she  has  been  led  to  think  wrong.  She  is 
first  shocked,  then  reconciled,  then  amused.  She  is 
courted,  petted,  and  admired  till  her  head  is  turned  and 
her  moral  sense  confused.  She  ends  like  most  converts 
by  going  beyond  her  very  teachers  and  out-Heroding 
Herod  in  acts  of  daring." 

"  And  yet  I  doubt  if  you  realize  how  little  wrong  there 
is  in  her." 

"Wrong  is  a  word  of  many  meanings.  If  I  applied 
it  to  my  sister  I  should  limit  it  to  what  is  foolish,  frivo 
lous,  and  indiscreet." 

"Those  are  fairly  comprehensive  headings,"  said 
Petrina,  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  How  wrong  folly,  frivolity,  and  indiscretion  can  be 
is  evident  from  the  fact  that  she  has  left  her  hus 
band.  " 

"For  his  fault,  not  hers." 

"  Ostensibly.  De  Bohun,  too,  has  been  wrong,  I  know. 
But  he  is  a  good  fellow  at  heart,  and  can  have  committed 
no  sin  which  Emmy  might  not  easily  condone. " 

"Isn't  it  the  man  who  speaks  there?" 

"  Isn't  it  the  man  who  ought  to  speak?" 

"But  the  woman  has  her  rights." 

"Yes,  and  her  duties." 

There  was  a  hard,  dominant  note  in  VassalFs  tone 
which  was  new  to  Petrina.  She  had  a  vague  feeling 
that  he  was  more  masterful  than  she  had  supposed. 

65 


Let   Not   Man    Put  Asunder 

A  suspicion  arose  in  her  mind  that  the  man  who  could 
be  so  severe  upon  his  sister  might  not  be  docile  to  his 
wife. 

"Won't  you  look  at  Emmy's  letter?"  she  asked, 
almost  timidly,  drawing  the  paper  from  her  pocket. 
"  Perhaps,  when  you  have  read  it,  you  will  feel  that 
the  matter  is  less  serious  than  it  seems." 

"  Thanks,"  he  said,  taking  the  letter  from  her.  "  But 
if  you  are  going  to  be  her  advocate  I  shall  have  to  dismiss 
the  charge." 

They  left  the  avenue  and  entered  a  broad,  grass-grown 
path  which  led  directly  to  the  lake.  They  walked  slow 
ly,  Vassall  reading  the  letter  as  he  went.  When  he  had 
come  to  the  end  of  it  he  folded  the  loose  sheets  and  re 
placed  them  in  the  envelope,  which  he  handed  back  to 
Petrina. 

"It  is  as  I  thought,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  You  mean  that—?" 

"That  Emmy  has  no  new  grievance  against  Hum 
phrey.  She  is  tired  of  him,  and  tired  of  her  life  as  the 
mother  of  a  growing  family.  She  wants  freedom  to 
seek  new  excitements.  She  has  turned  into  that  kind 
of  irresponsible  modern  woman  who  follows  her  own 
impulses  without  conscience  or  thought  of  consequence." 

Petrina  flushed  a  little,  but,  as  he  was  looking  straight 
and  sternly  before  him,  he  did  not  see  the  pretty  color 
adding  a  new  beauty  to  the  ivory-tinted  cheek. 

"Is  that  so  very  bad?"  she  asked,  still  timidly. 

"  In  my  judgment,  few  things  are  worse." 

"  But  if  you  stood  at  Emmy's  point  of  view  don't  you 
think  you  might  see  reasons  where  now  you  find  none?" 

"This  doesn't  seem  to  me  a  question  affected  by  the 
point  of  view.  It  is  one  of  absolute  duty,  and  is  indepen 
dent  of  conditions.  I  admit  that  a  woman  may  forsake 
her  husband,  as  a  last  resource,  but  her  children,  never." 

66 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"  But  Emmy  has  not  forsaken  them  precisely." 

"Practically.  No  one  can  read  between  the  lines 
of  her  letter  without  seeing  that  she  is  satisfied  to  be 
free  from  them." 

"  And  it  is  she  who  remains  at  Orpington  Park.  That 
signifies  that  Sir  Humphrey  has  left  her,  rather  than 
she  him." 

"  That  is  merely  Humphrey's  good  nature.  He  is  one 
of  those  fellows  who  would  put  himself  in  the  wrong 
so  that  she  might  have  the  air  of  being  in  the  right." 

"  How  you  men  hang  together!"  said  Petrina,  looking 
at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  I  am  not  taking  a  side  in  this  affair,"  Vassall  replied, 
earnestly.  "I  admit  that  Humphrey  has  not  been  al 
ways  wise,  but  I  affirm  that  Emmy  has  been  less  so. 
Because  she  is  my  sister  I  cannot  blind  myself  to  the 
fact  that  her  conduct  has  been  ill-judged." 

"  But  Sir  Humphrey  must  have  agreed  to  this,"  Pe- 
trina  argued.  "  Otherwise  things  could  not  have  been 
so  happily  arranged  for  Emmy." 

"She  has  teased  and  worried  him  into  it." 

"  How  little  you  seem  to  understand  her.  You  do  her 
injustice,  I  am  sure.  Hers  is  a  nature  that  everybody 
loves.  No  one  is  more  popular.  Wherever  she  goes 
she  is  like  sunshine." 

"  Yes,  the  sunshine  which  to-day  makes  you  glad  to 
be  alive ;  but  which  scorches  you  to-morrow  so  that  you 
must  either  run  into  the  shade  or  have  a  sunstroke." 

"I  don't  think  I  should  care  to  have  you  for  a 
brother—" 

"  Would  you  have  me  for  a — ?" 

"Nor  as  any  relation  whatever,"  Petrina  finished, 
calmly. 

The  path-way  ended,  and  they  came  out  upon  a  bit 
of  greensward  bordering  the  lake.  It  was  a  pretty  piece 

67 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

of  lawn,  closely  cut  and  carefully  kept,  on  which  Mrs. 
Faneuil  and  a  few  of  her  sedate  contemporaries  liked  to 
play  croquet.  There  were  rustic  seats  here  and  there, 
some  long  enough  for  two  or  three,  and  some  like  arm 
chairs. 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Petrina. 

She  took  one  of  the  arm-chairs.  Vassall  threw  him 
self  upon  the  grass.  It  was  what  Petrina  had  intended. 
She  liked  the  position  better  so  than  side  by  side. 

The  afternoon  was  very  still.  The  water  was  like 
burnished  metal.  A  solitary  boat  lay  motionless  far 
out  upon  the  lake.  The  hills  all  round  were  wonderful 
in  color,  as  though  some  strong  angel  had  flown  down 
and  painted  them  in  all  the  hues  of  heaven. 

"Nor  as  any  relation  whatever,"  Vassall  repeated, 
musingly,  his  gaze  fixed  upon  a  tree,  which  blazed  like 
the  Burning  Bush,  beside  the  lake.  "The  expression 
is  terribly  inclusive." 

"It  was  meant  to  be  so,"  said  Petrina,  who  ventured 
to  look  at  him,  since  he  was  not  looking  at  her. 

"And  exclusive." 

"I  suppose  it  is  that  too." 

"  And  may  I  ask  why  you  make  this  severe  decision?" 

"Because  you  are  so  hard." 

"But  if  I  softened?" 

"  Then  I  might  reconsider  my  opinion.  But  I  should 
still  find  you  unforgiving." 

"But  if  I  forgave?" 

"Then  I  should  think  better  of  you;  but  I  should 
nevertheless  take  note  that  you  are  narrow." 

"But  if  I  broadened?" 

"I  should  begin  to  have  hopes  for  you,  only  that  I 
know  you  are  so  self-righteous." 

He  winced  at  the  last  word. 

"I  must  have  a  great  deal  to  overcome." 


Let   Not   Man   Put    Asunder 

"You  have/' 

"Anything  that  you  have  not  yet  mentioned?" 

"Oh,"  much." 

"  Would  it  be  too  much  trouble  to  go  on  with  the  list?" 

"  It  wouldn't  be  too  much  trouble,  but  it  would  take  too 
long." 

"Once  that  you  are  willing  to  take  the  trouble,  we 
might  find  the  time." 

"Not  to-day." 

"No,  but  there  are  other  days." 

"Are  you  so  anxious  to  hear  your  faults?" 

"Yes,  from  you." 

"But  if  you  don't  want  to  give  them  up?" 

"I  would  give  up  anything  for  you." 

"That  is  so  easily  said,  and  means  so  little." 

"But  I  mean  it."' 

"In  any  sense?" 

"In  every  sense." 

"Suppose  some  time  I  wanted  to  take  you  at  your 
word?" 

"You  would  find  it  waiting  for  your  test." 

"Then  someday—" 

Vassall  suddenly  looked  upward,  and  Petrina  stop 
ped  in  confusion. 

"Yes?"  he  said,  softly.     "Some  day—?" 

"Oh,  nothing.     I  will  not  say  it." 

"Some  day  I  may  do  something  for  you?  Give  up 
something  for  you?  Be  something  for  you?  Is  it  that, 
Petrina?" 

"Perhaps." 

She  bent  her  dark  eyes  on  his,  and  there  was  the 
dawning  of  a  smile  on  her  finely  chiselled  lips.  She 
was  self-possessed,  but  her  voice  was  low. 

"Then  why  not  now?" 

She  made  no  reply. 

69 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Then  why  not  now,  Petrina?" 

She  still  made  no  reply. 

"I  may  call  you  Petrina,  mayn't  I?" 

"Haven't  you  already  done  so?" 

"And  you  are  not  offended?" 

"No."' 

Vassall  turned  his  eyes  away  again,  looking  absently 
across  the  lake.  Petrina  did  not  stir. 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  permission  makes  me  hope?" 

"No." 

"That  I  may  go  up  out  of  the  dull  world  in  which 
my  life  has  been  spent,  and  enter  that  in  which  every 
thing  is  glad  and  golden." 

"Is  there  such  a  world?" 

"  Yes ;  near  you. " 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  stillness  of  the  world 
around  seemed  to  have  descended  on  the  two  who  felt 
themselves  trembling  on  the  edge  of  the  supreme  avowal. 

"You  know  I  love  you,"  Vassall  said,  at  last. 

"Yes;  I  know,"  she  answered,  simply. 

"  And  you — if  you  could  care  for  me — "  he  began. 

"And  I  do,"  she  said. 

There  was  another  silence.  A  bird  in  the  wood  be 
gan  to  sing  sleepily  and  plaintively.  Petrina,  strange 
ly  content,  continued  to  look  down  upon  the  lover  at  her 
feet ;  while  he,  too  happy  to  believe  or  comprehend  his 
happiness,  too  happy  to  speak  or  move  or  even  to  glance 
upward  lest  he  should  break  the  spell,  gazed  dreamily 
over  the  waters,  at  the  many-colored  mountains  far 
away. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PETRINA  announced  her  engagement  at  once,  so 
that  the  little  flutter  of  interest  it  was  bound  to  cause 
in  Boston  might  be  past  before  her  return  to  town.  She 
disdained  the  happy  excitement  other  young  women 
revel  in  at  such  a  time.  She  had  no  curiosity  to  hear 
how  the  news  was  received  among  her  friends,  or  wheth 
er  it  was  mentioned  in  the  papers.  She  neither  sought 
nor  shunned  congratulations,  and  when  they  came  she 
received  them  with  a  grave  indifference,  as  though 
aware  that  they  had  no  significance.  The  common 
opinion  in  Boston  was  that  in  accepting  Henry  Vas- 
sall  she  was  "doing  very  well  for  herself,"  and  marry 
ing  a  man  of  whom  she  would  be  proud;  but  such  ap 
proval  made  no  impression  on  Petrina.  She  took  it  for 
granted  that,  out  of  a  large  selection  of  young  men, 
mostly  rich  or  rising,  Fate  had  bestowed  the  best  upon 
herself;  it  would  have  been  a  Fate  with  little  knowl 
edge  of  the  fitness  of  things  that  could  have  acted  other 
wise. 

There  was  thus  no  ecstasy  in  Petrina's  joy,  but  she 
was  quite  content.  She  admitted  to  herself  that  there 
were  men  with  more  dash,  fashion,  and  brilliancy  than 
he  whom  she  had  chosen ;  but  she  flattered  herself  on 
seeing  below  the  surface  and  putting  capacity  and 
character  before  elegance  and  good  looks.  Besides, 
she  considered  that  Vassall's  looks  were  good  enough, 
and  as  for  elegance,  she  meant  to  take  that  matter  in 
hand  by  and  by.  For  Petrina's  happiness  lay  in  the 

71 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

future.  She  looked  for  it  after  marriage,  not  before. 
She  had  no  definite  plans,  but  only  a  general  large 
ness  of  idea  in  which  she  saw  herself  as  a  star  of  con 
siderable  social  magnitude,  attended  by  a  satellite  able 
to  reflect  her  light. 

The  ecstasy  and  excitement  were  on  Vassall's  side. 
He  made  no  effort  to  conceal  his  joy,  or  to  hide  from 
the  world  his  sense  of  having  won  a  notable  victory. 
He  gave  that  full  expression  to  his  feelings  which  the 
reticent  man  allows  himself  only  now  and  then  in  life, 
on  the  rare  occasions  when  reserve  is  broken  down. 

Lechmere  left  for  Lenox,  and  Vassall  remained  alone 
at  Ashuelot.  The  month  that  followed  was  for  both  of 
the  betrothed  one  of  unbroken  happiness.  Vassall 
brought  adoration  to  Petrina's  shrine,  and  she  found 
such  pleasure  in  accepting  it  as  some  young  goddess 
in  the  odor  of  the  incense.  It  was  her  due,  but  none  the 
less  agreeable. 

They  were  in  the  stage  where  talk  of  the  future  was 
still  vague,  where  there  were  no  clashings  of  opinion 
because  there  was  no  definiteness  of  plan.  Now  and 
then  Vassall  gave  utterance  to  some  hope  which  Petrina 
did  not  share,  but  she  maintained  a  smiling  silence, 
feeling  sure  of  her  power  to  correct  whatever  in  his  aims 
she  did  not  care  for.  Now  and  then  Petrina  revealed 
to  Vassall  some  deficiency  of  character  wrhich  perplexed 
him,  but  he  held  his  peace,  never  doubting  his  ability  to 
develop  in  her  anything  she  lacked.  To  each  the  other 
was  a  new  and  delightful  accessory  to  life.  The  strands 
of  love  and  self-love  are  difficult  to  disentangle.  To 
Vassall,  Petrina's  destiny  was  to  add  beauty,  poetry,  and 
charm  to  his  rough,  masculine  life;  to  Petrina,  Vassall's 
task  was  to  bring  strength,  stability,  and  importance 
into  her  manifest  sphere  of  action.  It  did  not  occur  to 
either  to  think  of  the  other  as  leader ;  nor  was  there  any 

72 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

sense  of  rivalry,  because  each  was  in  his  or  her  own 
judgment  so  evidently  first. 

The  weeks  of  love-making  glided  by,  with  no  vexed 
questions  raised.  They  lived  in  a  world  all  lit  up  with 
magic  tints  like  the  maple-covered  mountains  round 
them. 

"Tou jours  dans  le  pays  bleu?"  Mrs.  Faneuil  asked 
when  Vassall  arrived  one  day. 

"  Dans  le  pays  d'or,"  he  replied,  with  fervor. 

When  Petrina  appeared  he  and  she  went  out  on  the 
lake  together. 

To  them  it  was  a  lake  of  sapphire  under  turquoise 
skies.  The  masts  of  their  barque  v.  ere  of  gold  and  the 
sails  of  fine-twined  purple.  Palaces  studded  the  shore, 
and  laughter  and  happy  music  floated  over  the  waters. 
But  in  this  enchanted  country  they  two  were  alone,  car 
ing  for  each  other,  living  in  each  other,  sufficient  to 
each  other. 

"  Is  it  a  dream?"  Petrina  asked.  "  And  shall  we  wake 
into  reality?" 

"This  is  reality,"  Vassall  affirmed.  "This  is  the 
true  life;  this  is  the  true  world — the  life  and  the  world 
which  can  be  seen  only  when  the  eyes  have  been  opened 
by  love." 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  was  not  until  Petrina  had  returned  to  Boston 
that  any  shadow  on  her  happiness  appeared.  It 
came  unexpectedly  in  her  first  call  upon  Vassall's 
mother. 

Mrs.  Vassall  kept  out  of  the  world,  and  dressed  in  a 
f ashionless  mourning ;  but  she  was  on  the  younger  side 
of  sixty.  She  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  time;  and 
though  on  principle  indifferent  to  outward  adornment, 
she  could  not  even  now  extinguish  the  light  of  her  blue 
eyes  nor  hide  the  delicate  transparency  of  her  com 
plexion.  She  had  a  sweet  nature,  a  sweet  voice,  and 
gentle  manners.  Every  one  said  it  was  no  wonder 
that  her  son  adored  her. 

When  Vassall  had  written  from  Ashuelot  the  news  of 
his  engagement,  the  mother  had  spent  one  day  weeping 
in  her  room,  and  another  praying  in  the  church.  Then 
she  was  ready  for  her  renunciation. 

He  was  her  only  son.  Since  Emilia  had  married  and 
gone  to  live  in  England  he  seemed  in  many  ways  like 
her  only  child.  She  loved  and  honored  him;  she  was 
very  proud  of  him.  Now  she  was  going  to  lose  him. 
She  had  no  illusions  on  that  subject.  Though  he  might 
continue  to  love  her  as  before,  she  must  now  come  second 
instead  of  first.  With  all  dutifulness  on  his  part  and 
all  good-will  on  hers,  there  never  again  could  be  the  old 
intimacy  between  them,  nor  the  same  matter-of-course 
turning  of  the  one  towards  the  other. 

"  Yea,  a  sword  shall  go  through  thine  own  soul  also," 

74 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

she  repeated  to  herself.  "This  is  the  price  one  pays 
for  motherhood." 

But  she  was  a  reasonable  woman  and  a  good  one; 
she  bent  herself  to  her  lot,  and  resolved  to  do  her  duty. 
Henry  should  never  know,  she  said,  that  his  happiness 
was  not  her  own. 

When  he  wrote  that  his  Petrina  was  beautiful  and 
charming,  she  winced  a  little,  but  believed  him.  A 
Vassall  could  not  marry  any  other.  Besides,  she  knew 
his  taste.  A  sweet,  modest,  gentle,  Christian  girl  was 
what  he  would  naturally  bring  her  as  a  daughter. 

It  was  not  strange  that  Petrina  should  have  been  to 
her  little  more  than  a  name.  She  did  know  that  Peter 
Faneuil,  with  whom  she  remembered  dancing  when 
she  was  still  Christina  Pepperell,  had  left  an  only 
daughter.  She  knew,  too,  that  he  had  married  as  a  second 
wife  one  of  the  "pretty  Phillipses."  But  that  was  all. 
Boston  had  become  so  big  that  families  once  intimate 
could  now  live  side  by  side  and  know  almost  nothing 
of  each  other.  Then,  Petrina  had  been  much  abroad, 
returning  only  to  spend  the  summers  at  Faneuil  Hill. 
Then,  Mrs.  Vassall,  since  her  widowhood,  had  kept 
little  in  touch  with  Boston.  With  a  few  old  families 
who  clung  to  their  ancestral  homes  on  Beacon  Hill  she 
maintained  the  acquaintanceship  of  former  years;  but 
she  knew  nothing  of  the  Back  Bay  or  of  what  she  called 
the  "  new  people/'  who  had  come  into  prominence  since 
the  war. 

Mrs.  Vassall  lived,  of  course,  in  Old  Cambridge,  in 
the  great  white  -  and  -  yellow  colonial  house  built  by 
one  of  the  Henry  Vassalls  before  the  Revolution.  The 
very  circumstance  cut  her  off  somewhat  from  the  cur 
rent  of  that  modern  Boston  life  in  which  she  might  have 
known  something  of  Petrina.  Mrs.  Vassall  was  essen 
tially  of  Old  Cambridge.  She  was  vaguely  aware  that 

75 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

a  great,  rich,  active  Boston  had  come  of  late  years  into 
being,  but  it  was  not  a  Boston  in  which  she  herself  was 
concerned.  As  she  drove  through  Commonwealth  Ave 
nue  she  was  conscious  of  a  large  and  handsome  quar 
ter  which  had  not  existed  when  she  was  a  girl.  It  was 
inhabited,  she  supposed,  by  people  who  "had  made 
their  money  in  speculation  " — a  fact  which  must  nat 
urally  put  them  in  a  very  indefinite  social  place.  But 
it  was  nothing  to  her.  The  Boston  to  which  she  be 
longed  was  the  Boston  of  old  families  closely  related, 
and  of  old  fortunes  and  family-seats  transmitted  from 
father  to  son.  This  was  the  Boston  which  had  affilia 
tions  with  Old  Cambridge.  Its  people  formed  a  mer 
chant-aristocracy,  dignified,  stable,  large-minded,  and 
public-spirited ;  they  were  often  learned,  of tener  witty, 
and  nearly  always  worthy  of  esteem.  Among  them 
were  to  be  found  writers,  artists,  and  philosophers, 
beautiful  women,  and  brilliant  men.  Their  living  was 
simple,  their  principles  were  high.  When  they  trav 
elled  they  mingled  with  the  best  in  every  land  and  did 
honor  to  their  city's  reputation  and  their  own. 

In  comparison,  the  newer  Boston  seemed  to  Mrs. 
Vassall  noisy  and  pretentious.  She  shrank  from  it, 
shutting  herself  up  more  and  more  closely  in  her  Old 
Cambridge  life.  As  a  Pepperell  by  birth  (Sir  William's 
family)  and  a  Vassall  by  marriage,  she  had  no  social 
favors  to  ask  of  any  one;  she  could  follow,  then,  her 
own  inclination,  and  live,  as  she  said,  "without  dis 
play." 

It  was,  therefore,  no  small  comfort  to  her  that  in  his 
selection  of  a  wife,  Harry's  choice  should  have  lighted 
on  a  Faneuil. 

"One  knows  at  least  who  she  is,"  she  said,  "and  the 
stock  is  good." 

Her  letters  to  Vassall  questioned  him  closely  as  to 

76 


Let  Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Petrina's  character,  habits,  religion,  and  looks;  but 
except  on  the  last  point  she  received  no  answer.  Henry 
was  very  much  in  love,  but  vague.  She  therefore  re 
solved  to  be  patient  until  able  to  judge  for  herself. 

The  first  meeting  with  Petrina  came  about  unex 
pectedly  to  Mrs.  Vassall.  She  was  seated  one  day 
sewing  at  an  upper  window,  when,  looking  out  tow 
ards  the  street,  she  saw  a  victoria,  drawn  by  two  hand 
some  black  horses  in  silver-mounted  harness,  stop  be 
fore  the  gate. 

"What  display!"  thought  Mrs.  Vassall,  as  her  eye 
wandered  from  the  steeds  in  their  trappings  to  the 
coachman  and  footman  in  their  liveries. 

Display  was  Mrs.  Vassall's  horror.  It  belonged,  .she 
thought,  to  the  "new  people,"  who  liked  to  show  that 
they  had  money.  She,  too,  had  money  in  modest  meas 
ure,  but  she  was  careful  to  spend  it  in  such  a  way  as 
to  produce  no  visible  effect.  She  had  her  horses,  her 
carriage,  and  her  coachman,  but  from  their  style  no 
one  would  ever  have  suspected  the  sums  she  spent 
upon  them.  She  wore  only  the  richest  and  costliest 
materials,  but  from  her  appearance  only  the  expert  in 
stuffs  could  have  detected  the  fact.  This  pleased  Mrs. 
Vassall.  It  was  her  conception  of  high-bred  sim 
plicity.  It  had  been  the  Boston  standard  in  the  days 
when  the  Back  Bay  was  still  a  bay,  and  not  a  mesh  of 
handsome  but  obtrusive  streets;  it  was  still,  thank  God, 
the  standard  of  Old  Cambridge.  She  liked  to  feel  that 
she  had  the  very  best  of  everything,  but  that  no  one 
knew  it  but  herself. 

"What  display!"  Mrs.  Vassall  said  again,  as  Petrina 
descended  from  the  carriage.  "Who  can  she  be?" 

Vassall  was  in  New  York.  He  had  gone  directly 
thither  from  Ashuelot,  where  he  had  lingered  till  the 
latest  moment.  Mrs.  Vassall,  therefore,  did  not  know 

77 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

that  Petrina  and  her  mother  had  returned  to  town. 
They  had,  in  fact,  arrived  in  Beacon  Street  only  the 
night  before,  and  Petrina  was  taking  the  earliest  pos 
sible  moment  to  make  her  future  mother-in-law's  ac 
quaintance. 

The  house  stood  back  from  the  street,  but  there  was 
no  drive-way  by  which  to  approach  it;  there  was  only 
the  straight  garden-path,  with  an  old-fashioned  border 
of  box. 

As  Petrina  advanced  Mrs.  Vassall  looked  out  with 
growing  disapproval.  This  tall  young  woman,  with 
the  long  but  graceful  tread,  and  the  curious,  delicate, 
sphinx-like  face,  was  the  very  embodiment  of  that  new 
Boston  from  which  Mrs.  Vassall  shrank — the  Boston 
in  which  gold  and  silver  and  gems  and  color  had  taken 
the  place  of  books  and  quiet  living  and  deep  thinking 
and  strict  principles. 

"What  display!"  Mrs.  Vassall  said  a  third  time,  as 
she  noted  the  points  of  Petrina 's  costume. 

But  here  she  was  unjust,  for  Petrina  was  dressed 
very  quietly — all  in  black,  with  pretty  touches  of  red. 
Only,  there  were  graceful  plumes  in  her  hat,  and  over 
her  shoulders  there  was  something  long  and  soft  and 
feathery ;  while  in  her  whole  appearance  there  was  that 
effect  of  subdued  elegance  which  bespeaks  money,  taste, 
and  much  thought  given  to  details. 

When,  a  moment  later,  the  servant  brought  a  card  with 
the  name  "Miss  Faneuil,"  Mrs.  Vassall  required  some 
few  seconds  to  adjust  her  mind  to  the  surprise.  Being 
a  good  woman,  she  at  once  rebuked  herself  for  hasty 
judgment  and  lack  of  charity. 

"One  must  not  go  by  mere  appearances,"  she  said; 
"  she  is  young,  and  we  should  make  allowances.  When 
she  is  Henry's  wife  this  display  will  doubtless  be  toned 
down. " 

78 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

So  she  smoothed  her  hair,  and  picked  a  few  white 
threads  from  her  severe  black  gown,  and  made  ready 
to  descend. 

In  the  meantime  Petrina  was  making  a  few  observa 
tions  on  her  own  account.  The  day  was  chilly;  the 
drive  had  been  long;  and  she  was  not  in  the  best  of 
humors. 

"  Why  should  any  one  ever  live  in  Cambridge?"  she 
said  peevishly  to  herself,  as  she  crossed  the  bridge  over 
the  Charles.  "  It  is  like  going  outside  the  pale  of  human 
fellowship." 

Her  mood  softened  a  little  as  she  passed  into  the  em 
bowered  roads  of  the  University  town  itself — that  pretty, 
overgrown  village,  set  amid  gardens,  and  Gothic-arched 
in  green.  The  October  sunlight,  slanting  through  the 
yellowing  elms,  lit  up  the  red  of  the  Harvard  halls,  half 
hidden  by  climbing  vines  now  dyed  in  all  the  hues  of 
autumn. 

Petrina  came  so  seldom  in  this  direction  that  she 
looked  about  with  interest. 

"It  just  misses  being  impressive,"  she  thought,  as 
she  glanced  across  the  Harvard  Yard.  "  The  common 
and  commercial  have  been  allowed  to  encroach  too  far 
upon  the  dignified  and  scholastic.  The  air  is  too  noisy ; 
the  aspect  too  utilitarian.  With  two  centuries  of  age, 
and  considerable  beauty,  there  is  not  enough  repose." 

It  was  the  habit  of  the  fastidious  and  self-satisfied 
world  in  which  Petrina  lived  to  sum  up  great  undertak 
ings  in  a  few  criticising  phrases — a  little  praise  tem 
pered  with  much  disparagement.  Having  thus  dis 
posed  of  Harvard,  she  turned  her  thought  elsewhere. 

As  her  carriage  rolled  onward  her  mood  began  to 
change.  She  had  set  out  from  home  with  the  feeling 
that  she  was  performing  a  graceful,  almost  a  conde 
scending,  act.  She  was  a  young  woman  paying  a 

79 


Let   Not  Man    Put    Asunder 

delicate  attention  to  an  old  one;  that,  from  Petrina's 
point  of  view,  was  inseparable  from  a  sense  of  pretty 
patronage.  Then,  she  was  a  rich,  handsome,  and 
fashionable  girl,  whose  society  was  courted  and  per 
sonality  admired,  coming,  with  what  was  meant  to 
look  like  eagerness,  to  press  the  hand  and  perhaps  to 
kiss  the  cheek  of  one  who  was  living  in  the  background. 
Petrina  naturally  expected  her  graciousness  to  be  re 
ceived  with  gratitude.  Up  to  the  present  Mrs.  Vassall 
had  been  to  her  a  negation — one  who  would  not  have 
required  a  second  thought  if  Vassall  had  not  spoken 
about  her.  Petrina  was  making  this  call  to  please  him. 
It  was  a  duty  rather  than  a  pleasure,  and  was  of  no 
permanent  significance. 

But  as  she  threaded  one  after  another  of  the  shady 
Old  Cambridge  streets  the  negative  began  to  be  more 
positive.  She  was  conscious  of  a  mental  atmosphere 
quite  different  from  that  of  the  Back  Bay.  The  rows 
of  quiet  houses  standing  amid  spacious  grounds,  the 
general  air  of  unostentatious  plenty  and  of  occupied 
tranquillity,  struck  her  as  suggestive  of  other  aims 
and  other  standards  and  other  points  of  view  than  any 
she  had  made  her  own.  She  had  an  uncomfortable  sense 
of  being  among  people  to  whom  her  beauty  and  elegance 
would  make  no  appeal  —  who  would  not  admit  the 
grounds  on  which  she  claimed  the  right  to  be  placed  first, 
and  would  look  in  her  for  merits  she  had  never  meant  to 
cultivate. 

For  the  first  time  she  began  to  wonder  if  it  was  not 
this  Cambridge  influence  which  had  given  Vassall  his 
distinction  from  the  other  men  she  had  known,  his 
strange  ardor  for  ideals,  and  his  curious  indifference  to 
externals.  For  the  first  time  she  began  to  ask  if  Mrs. 
Vassall  herself  might  not  be  a  power  to  be  reckoned 
with. 

80 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

This  suspicion  deepened  as  she  drew  up  before  the 
great  white-and-yellow  house — a  combination  of  semi- 
Southern  veranda  and  semi- classical  facade,  anomalous 
but  effective. 

''  How  stupid  not  to  have  a  drive-way  and  a  porte- 
cochere!"  thought  Petrina,  only  too  ready  to  find  fault. 

The  house  was  considered  by  Western  tourists  to  be 
an  interesting  survival  of  pre-revolutionary  taste;  the 
garden  was  thought  quaint.  Petrina  gave  them  only 
one  carelessly  comprehensive  glance. 

"It  might  be  tolerable  for  a  week  in  spring/'  she 
thought.  "  At  any  other  time  it  would  be  burial  alive." 

When  she  entered  the  house  she  could  not  but  admire 
its  simple  eighteenth  -  century  dignity,  with  its  high, 
moulded  ceilings,  its  generous  staircase,  and  its  sense 
of  space. 

"There  is  an  ancestral  air  about  it,"  she  confessed. 
"Something  might  be  made  of  it." 

But  here  her  approval  ended.  As  she  looked  about 
her  in  the  great  drawing-room,  into  which  she  had 
been  shown,  her  taste,  sensitive  to  styles,  was  shocked. 

"What  a  bourgeois  lack  of  discrimination  1 "  she  re 
marked  ;  and  this  was  true. 

There  were  boule  cabinets,  Empire  sofas,  Sheraton 
tables,  and  Chippendale  chairs,  scattered  amid  hideous 
bits  of  modern,  machine-made  furniture  covered  in 
red  plush.  Over  the  chimney-piece,  carved  in  pretty 
garlands,  was  a  Copley  portrait  flanked  by  two  large 
framed  photographs  of  sacred  pictures  in  the  Louvre. 
Eighteenth-century  pastels  balanced  steel-engravings, 
dating  from  the  sixties,  of  Joan  of  Arc  offering  her 
sword  upon  the  altar  and  Henry  V.  trying  on  his 
father's  crown.  The  grand  piano  was  as  much  out  of 
date  as  a  harpsichord,  but  on  it  was  the  only  touch  in 
the  room  of  the  progressive  present  day.  It  was  a  large 

81 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

photograph  of  Lady  de  Bohun  in  all  the  feathers  and 
fashion  of  her  last  court  dress. 

"I  don't  wonder  Emmy  revolted  against  all  this 
incongruity/'  Petrina  thought.  "This  must  be  the 
old  New  England  one  has  heard  about — when  people 
read  philosophy  and  didn't  dress  for  dinner;  when  they 
travelled  for  information,  and  made  notes  on  the  celeb 
rities  whom  they  met." 

But  as  she  heard  Mrs.  Vassall's  step  upon  the  polished 
staircase  Petrina  checked  her  feeling  of  undefined  hos 
tility,  and  got  herself  ready  to  be  gracious. 

When  the  door  opened  there  was  just  an  instant  in 
which  the  ladies  stood  looking  at  each  other.  It  was 
like  two  aspects  of  American  civilization  come  suddenly 
face  to  face.  Petrina  took  the  initiative  and  went  for 
ward  with  a  rustle  of  silk,  and  long,  soft,  feline  tread. 

"  I  have  come  early,"  she  said,  holding  out  both  hands 
to  Mrs.  Vassall,  "because  I  couldn't  wait.  I  wanted 
to  see  you  so!" 

"You  are  before  me,"  Mrs.  Vassall  replied,  taking 
Petrina's  hands  in  hers,  "only  because  I  didn't  know 
you  had  returned  to  town." 

There  were  rising  tears  in  Mrs.  Vassall's  soft  blue 
eyes  as  she  lifted  them  to  the  girl's  dark  ones.  Petrina 
saw  whence  Emilia  de  Bohun  had  inherited  her  delicate 
but  enduring  beauty. 

"You  must  let  me  kiss  you,"  Mrs.  Vassall  said,  and 
Petrina  stooped. 

"Let  me  look  at  you,"  Mrs.  Vassall  continued. 
"Come  nearer  to  the  light." 

She  led  Petrina  towards  a  window. 

"My  son  has  said  so  much  about  you,"  she  went  on, 
"and  yet  I  do  not  know  you.  It  is  so  hard  to  judge 
from  mere  descriptions." 

Petrina  felt  that  the  tear-bedimmed  blue  eyes  were 

82 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

scanning  her  with  intelligent  penetration;  but  she  was 
accustomed  to  be  studied,  and  remained  self-possessed. 
She  looked  for  some  expression  of  dignified  approval, 
but  Mrs.  Vassall,  on  releasing  the  girl's  hands,  only 
said: 

"Won't  you  sit  down?    We  can  talk  better  so." 

She  led  the  way  to  one  of  the  Empire  sofas,  and  they 
sat  down  side  by  side,  turning  towards  each  other. 

"It  is  so  difficult  to  judge  from  mere  descriptions," 
Mrs.  Vassall  said  again. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  be  disappointed  in  me,"  said 
Petrina,  though  she  had  no  fear  of  producing  that 
effect. 

"  I  should  never  be  disappointed  with  Henry's  choice," 
Mrs.  Vassall  responded,  with  gentle  pride. 

Petrina  had  a  little  nervous  movement.  She  was  not 
used  to  being  rated  as  "Henry's  choice." 

"And  yet  the  best  of  men  are  liable  to  make  mis 
takes,"  Petrina  replied,  speaking  with  vague  aggres 
siveness.  "  Perhaps  when  you  know  me  better — " 

Mrs.  Vassall  smiled. 

"I  know  how  you  feel,  dear,"  she  interrupted,  taking 
Petrina 's  hand  and  patting  it.  "  I  know  how  you  feel. 
When  one  has  been  singled  out  by  a  man  like  Henry 
one  is  naturally  conscious  of  one's  own  un worthiness. " 

"Very,"  said  Petrina,  dryly. 

"But  is  not  the  sense  of  one's  weakness  a  stimulus 
to  greater  striving?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  could  precisely  strive — " 

"Oh  yes,  you  can,  dear,"  Mrs.  Vassall  interrupted, 
smiling.  She  liked  what  she  thought  Petrina 's  mod 
esty.  "We  all  feel  that  way  at  first,  but  we  succeed 
at  last.  And  you  will,  too.  Henry  is  strict,  but  he  is 
not  exacting.  He  is  like  his  father  in  that." 

"  I  am  not  much  accustomed  to  taking  other  people's 

83 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

wishes  into  consideration,"  Petrina  managed  to  say 
at  last.  She  was  annoyed  with  herself  for  the  crude 
self-assertion  of  the  speech,  but  Mrs.  Vassall  took  it  in 
another  sense. 

"No,  I  suppose  not,  dear.  As  an  only  child,  and  in 
some  measure  independent,  others  have  hitherto  thought 
for  you,  rather  than  you  for  them.  But  you  will  find 
the  active  part  of  life  so  much  richer  than  the  pas 
sive." 

"  So  I  should  imagine,  but — " 

"But  you  fear  your  own  inability  to  meet  the  de 
mands  that  will  be  made  upon  you?  Naturally.  All 
good  women  do  on  the  eve  of  marriage.  But  you  will 
have  Henry's  love  and  guidance,  and  I  hope  you  will 
remember  that,  if  any  counsel  or  sympathy  of  mine  can 
help  you,  I  shall  never  have  any  wish  so  dear  as  to  be 
of  service  to  both  you  and  him." 

It  was  quite  clear  now  to  Petrina  that  she  was  in  an 
entirely  new  world.  The  negative  had  become  positive. 
The  mother,  who  had  been  but  a  shadow,  was  assum 
ing  with  each  word  a  personality.  Petrina  continued 
to  smile;  her  tone  was  soft;  her  gestures  were  gentle; 
but  within  she  was  annoyed.  She  had  lost  the  sense 
of  patronage  with  which  she  had  set  out.  This  prim 
little  Puritan,  whose  simple  dignity  and  middle-aged 
prettiness  were  admirably  heightened  by  the  severity 
of  her  plain  black  attire,  had  a  presence  quite  equal  to 
Petrina's  own.  She  might  live  out  of  what  Petrina 
called  "the  world  ";  she  might  be  quite  unfashionable; 
she  might  not  heed  the  difference  between  "Chippen 
dale"  and  "Empire,"  nor  pay  any  attention  to  the  art 
of  hanging  pictures;  but  she  was  not  a  woman  who 
could  be  left  with  affectionate  neglect  to  her  knitting 
and  the  chimney-corner.  Petrina  grew  at  once  aware 
of  that.  She  had  a  renewed  sense  of  being  judged  by 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

a  standard  which  was  not  what  she  had  set  up.  She 
was  conscious  that  her  beauty  was  producing  no  effect, 
that  she  was  before  a  tribunal  where  her  costume  and 
manners  and  perfection  of  external  detail  would  pass 
unheeded  in  the  search  for  the  things  of  the  soul. 

"  You  must  not  think  that  I  should  ever  intrude  upon 
you,"  Mrs.  Vassall  went  on  gently,  as  Petrina  made  no 
reply  to  the  offer  of  maternal  help.  "A  husband  and 
wife  must  learn  to  live  their  own  life  together.  Only 
their  intimate  and  sacred  experience  with  each  other 
will  teach  them  when  to  yield  and  when  to  stand  firm, 
and  how  each  can  supply  what  the  other  lacks.  I  fully 
understand  that." 

"Of  course,"  said  Petrina,  vaguely. 

"  And  yet  I  think  that  no  young  woman  can  quite  do 
without  the  help  and  sympathy  of  an  older  one." 

"That  is  no  doubt  often  true,"  Petrina  assented,  po 
litely. 

"  Always  true,  dear — at  least  I  have  found  it  so  with 
my  girls." 

"Your—?" 

"My  girls,  dear.  I  mean  my  Friendship  girls. 
Didn't  you  know  I  was  the  head  of  the  Girl's  Guild  of 
Friendship?  I  suppose  Harry  didn't  think  of  telling 
you.  It  is  my  work,  and  a  most  interesting  one.  Some 
day  I  hope  you  will  know  more  about  it.  Perhaps  you 
will  become  one  of  our  Companions." 

Mrs.  Vassall  smiled  with  gentle  confidence  and  con 
tinued  to  pat  Petrina's  hand. 

"  What  is  it?"  Petrina  asked,  still  vaguely.  "  Do  they 
have  subscription  dances,  or  a  cotillon  in  a  hall?  I 
think  the  younger  girls  have  something  of  the  sort  in 
Boston." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Vassall,  a  little  shocked.  "  They 
are  only  .working  girls,  but  such  good  girls!  You 

85 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

would  be  deeply  interested  in  them,  I  am  sure.  We  try 
to  teach  them  to  be  simple  and  industrious,  to  have 
good  manners  and  good  morals,  to  be  helpful  to  each 
other  and  faithful  to  the  Church." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Petrina,  softly,  apparently  shocked 
on  her  side.  "  I  couldn't  do  that." 

She  did  not  mean  to  be  so  blunt,  but  the  sentence 
slipped  out  before  she  could  control  herself. 

"You  couldn't — ?"  began  Mrs.  Vassall. 

"No,  no,  Mrs.  Vassall,  I  couldn't,  really." 

"  But  why?     It  is  such  a  noble  work." 

"Of  course,"  Petrina  hurried  on,  vexed  with  herself, 
but  more  vexed  with  Mrs.  Vassall.  "  Of  course  it  is  a 
noble  work.  But  I — I  never  interest  myself  in  anything 
of  that  kind." 

"That  is,  you  feel  shy,"  the  older  woman  said,  en 
couragingly.  "  But  you  will  get  over  that.  Many  of 
our  younger  women  hesitate  at  first,  but  with  a  little 
experience — " 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  count  on  me  for  anything  like 
that,"  said  Petrina,  with  quiet  decision.  "I  have  no 
taste  at  all  for  philanthropy." 

"This  is  less  a  philanthropic  than  a  religious  work." 

"  But  I  am  not  of  your  religion." 

Petrina  smiled  prettily  in  order  to  soften  the  effect 
of  her  words,  but  Mrs.  Vassall  started  with  surprise. 

"  You  mean,"  she  began,  slowly,  "  that  you  are  not  a 
church  woman  ?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Vassall,  I  am  not." 

There  was  in  Petrina's  voice  that  slightly  defiant  ring 
that  belongs  to  religious  affirmations  and  denials.  To 
Mrs.  Vassall  the  moment  was  dramatic.  A  Vassall 
who  was  not  a  churchman  seemed  as  impossible  as  a 
pope  who  was  not  a  Catholic. 

"Then  you  are  a  Unitar — ?" 

86 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"No,"  Petrina  interrupted,  hastily — "not  that, 
either/' 

"Then  what  are  you?" 

Mrs.  Vassall's  gaze,  manner,  and  utterance  were  in 
tense.  For  her  the  question  had  an  importance  which 
Petrina  divined  but  partially. 

"Nothing,"  said  the  girl,  quietly,  lowering  her  eyes. 
"I  have  no  religion." 

Petrina  spoke  firmly,  but  kept  the  vibration  of  de 
fiance  out  of  her  tone.  Mrs.  Vassall  mistook  the  note 
for  that  of  sadness.  Holding  one  of  Petrina's  hands, 
she  now  seized  the  other. 

"Oh,  my  poor  child!"  she  cried,  in  a  burst  of  genuine 
motherly  pity.  "  How  you  have  been  neglected  1  How 
you  have  been  deprived  of  care  and  guidance !  It  is  so 
often  thus  with  orphan  girls.  But  we  will  help  you,  dear. 
We  will  teach  you.  We  will  surround  you  with  the  good 
influences  you  have  not  had.  When  you  see  things 
as  we  see  them  you  will  find  how  much  beauty — " 

At  the  word  beauty  Petrina's  eyes  wandered  slowly 
around  the  great,  incongruously  furnished  room ;  but 
Mrs.  Vassall  continued  to  speak  eagerly,  almost  pas 
sionately,  for  the  faith  of  which  Petrina  had  professed 
her  ignorance.  The  girl  listened  with  politeness,  but 
with  increasing  coldness.  At  last  she  rose  with  an  air 
of  curt  but  courteous  dismissal  of  the  subject. 

"  I  must  not  keep  you  any  longer  now,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  so  delightful  to  talk  all  these  things  out  with  you. 
Some  other  day  we  shall  have,  perhaps,  another  chat 
about  them." 

Mrs.  Vassall,  as  a  woman  of  tact,  accepted  with  good 
grace  the  abrupt  termination  put  to  her  discourse. 

"You  will  not  go  without  having  seen  the  house?" 
she  asked,  trying  to  master  her  emotion,  and  rising  as 
she  spoke. 

87 


Let  Not  Man  Put    Asunder 

"I  am  afraid  I  haven't  time  to-day/'  said  Petrina, 
eager  to  be  gone. 

"  Then  you  must  come  soon  again.  Harry  will  want 
you  to  go  over  it  and  suggest  what  changes  you  would 
like  to  have  made." 

"I?  Why  should  I  have  changes  made?"  Petrina 
asked,  in  some  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  you  will  find  them  needed.  It  is  an  old  house, 
you  know." 

"But  I  shall  not  live  here?" 

Petrina's  tone  was  one  of  mingled  inquiry  and  declara 
tion.  It  seemed  to  ask  if  any  one  were  likely  to  expect 
her  to  make  her  home  there,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
say  that,  if  so,  he  was  wrong. 

"I  have  my  own  house/'  Petrina  continued. 

"The  Vassalls  have  lived  here  for  upward  of  two 
centuries,"  Mrs.  Vassall  said,  with  quiet  dignity. 
"Harry  would  never  consent  to  live  elsewhere." 

They  both  smiled  and  said  no  more  about  the  matter ; 
but  the  gauntlet  was  thrown  down  between  them. 
They  kissed  each  other  again,  and  expressed  the  pleas 
ure  they  had  had  in  meeting.  Then  Petrina  managed 
to  depart. 

"What  display!"  Mrs.  Vassall  said,  involuntarily,  as 
Petrina's  equipage  dashed  away. 

But  she  checked  herself  and  went  up-stairs.  She  sat 
down  again  to  the  task  from  which  her  visitor  had  taken 
her,  but  she  did  not  sew.  She  mused  a  little ;  then  she 
cried  a  little;  and  then,  kneeling  down  at  her  bedside, 
prayed  a  long,  long  while. 

In  the  meantime  Petrina  was  rolling  back  towards 
Boston  in  even  less  good  humor  than  when  she  had  set 
out.  She  questioned  herself;  she  questioned  the  fut 
ure.  She  foresaw  that  her  supremacy  over  married 
life  would  demand  a  struggle;  but  at  the  thought  of 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

contest  her  eyes  flashed  and  her  delicate  nostrils 
ered.  She  told  herself  that  the  fight  would  be  between 
old-fashioned  prejudice  on  the  one  side  and  her  own  en 
lightened  liberality  on  the  other.  She  was  not  the  wom 
an  to  recede  before  the  fear  of  battle,  and  with  regard 
to  her  own  ideas  she  would  neither  yield,  modify,  nor 
concede. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  describing  Petrina  Faneuil  as  a  pagan  Puritan, 
Lechmere  had  spoken  more  wisely  than  he  knew.  She 
was  pagan  by  inheritance  and  temperament;  neither 
religious  ideal  nor  spiritual  creed  had  any  place  in  her 
life.  She  was  not  hostile  to  faith ;  she  was  only  aloof  from 
it.  She  had  neither  knowledge  nor  need  of  it.  She 
was  aware  that  it  existed,  but  it  was  no  more  to  her 
than  a  love  of  landscape  to  a  man  born  blind.  It  was 
something  to  which  she  felt  herself  superior.  Its  ap 
peal  to  her  was  not  more  practical  than  that  of  a  Wag 
ner  prelude  to  a  sailor  in  a  storm.  She  did  not  object 
to  it ;  she  would  never  have  argued  against  it — not  any 
more  than  she  would  have  led  a  crusade  against  doing 
crochet-work  or  making  rubbings  from  old  tombs.  She 
simply  stood  apart  from  it,  as  an  indifferent  spectator. 

It  was  only  when  other  people  presented  their  relig 
ion  as  a  pattern  to  which  she  should  be  expected  to  con 
form  that  Petrina  felt  irritated  against  it.  Mrs.  Yas- 
sall's  gentle  assumption  of  spiritual  leadership  aroused 
that  sense  of  revolt  which  was  always  existent,  even  if 
latent,  in  the  Faneuil  blood. 

For  Petrina 's  separation  from  religious  systems  dated 
not  merely  from  the  parents  who  had  chosen  to  be  mar 
ried  and  buried  without  sacred  rites ;  it  came  from  far 
back  in  her  ancestral  history.  When  the  Barons  de 
Faneuil  first  emerge  into  mediaeval  light  they  are  al 
ready  in  conflict  with  the  Church.  For  more  than  two 
centuries  there  was  generally  a  Pierre  de  Faneuil  in  a 

90 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

state  of  threatened  or  actual  excommunication.  It  was 
natural  that  the  Reformation  should  have  found  the 
family  with  the  Huguenots;  and  it  was  not  wholly 
strange  that  one  of  the  race,  bolder  than  his  ancestors, 
should  have  pushed  his  way  over  the  sea  and  joined 
himself  to  the  men  of  another  nation.  They  were  alien 
to  him  in  manners,  speech,  and  blood,  but  they  were 
"  his  own  people  "  in  the  Lord.  The  last  of  the  Barons, 
Pierre  de  Faneuil  became  thus  the  first  of  the  Peter  Fan- 
euils. 

But  to  a  race  as  impatient  of  the  minister  as  they 
had  been  of  the  pope,  not  even  Puritan  Massachusetts 
could  give  spiritual  rest.  The  generations  that  grew 
up  on  New  England  soil  were  not  seldom  at  variance 
with  the  accepted  belief  around  them.  Each  new  phase 
of  religious  thought,  reactionary  or  radical,Trinitarian 
or  Unitarian,  was  welcomed  for  a  moment  as  a  deliver 
ance  from  every  other,  but  the  influence  of  no  one  sys 
tem  lasted  long.  From  father  to  son  the  tendency  tow 
ards  individualism  in  belief  grew  stronger.  Petrina's 
great-grandfather,  nominally  an  Episcopalian,  inclined 
towards  rationalism  in  his  later  years.  Her  grand 
father,  nominally  a  Unitarian,  became,  before  his 
death,  an  avowed  free-thinker.  Her  father  had  been 
nothing.  Petrina  was  nothing,  too.  Whatever  relig 
ious  instinct  had  ever  been  in  the  family  had  spent  it 
self  at  least  two  generations  before  her  time.  She  was 
a  pagan — a  tolerant,  indifferent,  slightly  scornful  pa 
gan — who  could  not  feel  enough  interest  in  the  creeds 
which  went  by  the  name  of  Christ  to  be  even  opposed 
to  them. 

But  she  was  none  the  less  a  Puritan.  Certain  of  her 
ways  of  thought  and  habits  of  life  had  survived  the  be 
liefs  which  had  given  them  birth,  as  an  effect  will  often 
outlive  its  cause.  If  she  was  a  pagan,  she  was  a  seri- 

91 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

ous  one,  a  pagan  with  a  New  England  conscience. 
She  was  not  without  ideals,  and  was  strict  in  living  up 
to  them.  Aware  that  she  was  well  dowered  in  beauty, 
intelligence,  and  wealth,  she  looked  upon  herself  as  the 
steward  of  those  gifts,  and  held  herself  responsible  for 
their  use  in  doing  good.  But  her  notion  of  "  good  "  was 
essentially  non-Christian.  It  was  part  of  her  pagan 
ism  that  for  the  poor  she  had  little  pity,  while  for  the 
sick  she  had  only  the  sort  of  sympathy  which  sprang 
from  the  fear  of  some  day  suffering  herself.  Philan 
thropy  was  as  far  from  her  as  was  religion.  She  looked 
on  and  wondered  when  she  saw  her  friends  working  in 
Associated  Charities  or  College  Settlements.  Mrs.  Vas- 
sall's  Guilds  of  Friendship  and  parochial  societies 
seemed  to  her  grotesque. 

And  yet  she  had  an  idea  of  making  herself  useful, 
even  though  not  in  a  way  which  would  be  specially 
commended  by  the  Church.  Her  views  were  worldly, 
but,  such  as  they  were,  she  held  them  eagerly. 

She  saw  herself  a  rich  and  free  young  woman  placed 
by  the  hazards  of  descent  in  Boston ;  and,  had  it  been  pos 
sible,  she  would  not  have  chosen  her  destiny  elsewhere. 
She  rarely  thought  of  herself  as  an  American ;  she  was 
distinctly  and  before  everything  else  a  Bostonian. 
For  her  the  great  group  of  Federated  States  were  but  the 
pedestal  which  upholds  the  statue.  Boston  was  her 
statue ;  Boston  was  her  country.  Her  patriotism  was  a 
civic  one,  like  that  of  the  mediaeval  Venetian,  Veronese, 
or  Florentine.  That  there  were  other  great  cities  in 
America  she  was  aware;  but  they  were  Boston's  in 
tellectual  or  social  tributaries.  They  might  be  larger 
or  richer  or  busier,  but  they  could  never  bear  to  Boston 
any  other  than  the  relation  of  Lyons  or  Liverpool  to 
Rome. 

And  yet  this  civic  pride  was  neither  indiscriminate 

92 


Let   Not   Man  Put  Asunder 

nor  blind.  It  was  in  the  fact  that  she  saw  her  city's 
social  and  intellectual  defects  that  she  found  her  mission. 
Like  Mrs.  Vassall,  she  perceived  a  wide  difference  be 
tween  the  new  Boston  and  the  old ;  only  that,  while  for 
the  elder  woman  the  new  was  non-existent,  for  Petrina 
it  was  the  only  actual  and  vital.  The  old  had  passed 
away.  The  simple,  dignified  life  which  had  produced 
Emerson  and  Hawthorne,  Lowell,  Longfellow,  and 
Holmes — the  life  in  which  Mrs.  Vassall  still  supposed 
she  lived — was  for  Petrina  irrevocably  gone.  In  its 
place  had  come  a  larger,  richer,  more  luxurious,  more 
mixed,  more  pleasure -loving,  and  more  free-and-easy 
society,  in  which  the  old  New  England  elements,  while 
still  predominant,  were  in  conflict  with  many  distracting 
influences  from  outside. 

Petrina  was  not  content  that  her  Boston  should  become 
like  another  Weimar,  the  memory  of  a  great  time  gone 
by ;  she  was  not  content  that  it  should  be  only  a  success 
ful  contestant  for  commercial  honors.  As  she  saw  the 
higher  possibilities,  they  were  greater  now  than  ever; 
only  there  was  a  lack  of  united  action  and  of  social 
cohesion.  There  were  all  the  elements  of  a  society  high- 
minded  and  highly  bred,  but  they  were  not  blended  to 
gether.  There  was  a  dividing-up  of  forces  into  small, 
self-nicknamed  bands.  There  was  no  society;  there 
were  only  "  sets "  —  with  a  tendency  towards  the  ar 
rogance  and  ignorance  consequent  upon  living  in  a 
petty  world.  The  young,  to  their  deterioration,  separat 
ed  themselves  from  their  elders  ;  the  elders,  to  their  loss, 
were  out  of  touch  with  the  young.  Between  the  married 
and  the  single  a  great  gulf  was  fixed;  while  there  was 
even  a  barrier  between  those  who  were  young  and  mar 
ried  and  those  who  were  married  and  middle-aged. 
The  father  had  little  social  contact  with  his  son,  and 
the  mother  almost  none  with  her  daughter.  Children 

93 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

were  impatient  of  the  presence  of  their  parents;  and 
parents  permitted  their  children  to  run  at  large.  There 
was  a  perceptible  decline  in  social  conscience,  social 
honor,  social  morals;  and  minds  and  manners  had 
suffered  for  the  worse.  What  had  been,  and  might  still 
be,  one  of  the  most  delightful  societies  in  the  world 
was,  with  increased  opportunities,  breaking  up  into 
factions,  for  want  of  a  standard  round  which  to  con 
centrate. 

That  standard  Petrina  proposed  to  herself  to  set  up. 
How  she  was  to  do  it  she  had  no  very  clear  idea ;  but  it 
satisfied  her  Puritan  yearnings  for  beneficent  activity 
to  think  that  she  might  accomplish  some  amount  of 
"good."  She  had  no  fixed  programme,  but  she  did 
not  doubt  that  the  way  would  become  clear  as  she 
went  on. 

The  first  step  was  to  be  married.  Petrina  had  a 
high  opinion  of  the  powers  and  position  of  her  sex,  but 
she  never  questioned  the  fact  that  she  would  be  more 
important  as  a  married  woman  than  as  a  single  one. 
It  was  humiliating  but  true  that  a  Mrs.  Vassall  could 
be  a  greater  social  authority  than  a  Miss  Faneuil; 
though  in  her  case  the  fact  that  she  loved  the  man  who 
was  to  be  her  husband  softened  what  was  trying  in 
the  fact. 

It  was  nevertheless  with  some  astonishment  that  she 
received  Mrs.  VassalFs  counsels,  which,  as  the  autumn 
went  on,  were  delivered  by  both  the  spoken  and  the  writ 
ten  word.  When  the  elder  lady  returned  Petrina's  call, 
her  conversation  turned  wholly  on  what  Henry  liked 
to  eat  and  wear  and  do,  and  the  small  arts  it  was  neces 
sary  to  practise  to  keep  him  in  good  humor.  It  was 
part  of  the  sacrifice  the  mother  was  ready  to  make,  that 
all  the  bits  of  precious  information  she  had  gleaned 
in  three-and-thirty  years  of  study  of  her  son  she  was 

94 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

ready  to  give  to  this  woman  who  was  taking  him  away. 
There  was  a  brief  instant  when  she  had  meant  not  to 
do  so. 

"Let  her  learn  these  things  for  herself/'  was  the 
thought  which  had  passed  through  her  mind. 

But  she  rejected  the  temptation  with  scorn  of  her  own 
littleness. 

"No;  she  shall  know  all.  She  shall  begin  where  I 
leave  off,  and  with  every  advantage." 

So  she  poured  out  her  treasures  of  motherly  observa 
tion,  laying  them  at  Petrina 's  feet — Henry's  taste  in 
meals,  his  fastidiousness  about  his  linen,  and  his  fussi- 
ness  when  any  one  touched  his  papers.  The  little  mother 
in  her  fashionless  black  bent  forward  in  her  chair,  talk 
ing  eagerly,  while  Petrina,  all  in  floating  lace,  leaned 
back,  half  scornful  and  half  amused  at  the  thought  that 
she  must  sit  at  Henry's  feet  and  learn,  or  stand  by  in 
an  attitude  of  service. 

"He  is  as  good  a  man  as  ever  lived,"  said  the  moth 
er,  proudly,  "  but  you'll  have  to  humor  him,  my  dear. 
Men  are  more  or  less  like  grown-up  boys,  and  Henry  is 
as  the  rest.  He  gets  terribly  impatient  if  dinner  isn't 
ready  promptly  at  half  past  six  o'clock." 

"We  dine  at  eight,"  said  Petrina,  languidly. 

"Oh,  that  will  never  do,"  Mrs.  Vassall  exclaimed, 
hastily.  "  But  you  will  see  that  yourself,"  she  added, 
with  a  faint  smile.  "  He  takes  only  the  lightest  lunch 
at  his  club,  so  that  when  he  comes  home  he  is  very  hun 
gry.  He  goes  to  his  lunch  at  one.  One  from  eight  is 
seven.  Seven  hours  without  food.  It  would  be  too 
long,  my  dear.  You'll  find  it  so,  especially  with  his 
digestion." 

"Must  I  have  his  digestion,  too?"  Petrina  asked, 
with  a  smile. 

But  Mrs.  Vassall,  not  understanding  the  remark, 

95 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

went  on  to  speak  of  some  of  Henry's  other  peculiarities 
in  their  relations  to  the  household. 

"  You  will  excuse  my  jotting  things  down  just  as  they 
occur  to  me/'  she  wrote  a  few  days  later,  "  but  one  can 
not  think  of  everything  in  a  half-hour's  conversation. 
There  is,  however,  one  matter  on  which  you  never  need 
have  any  anxiety.  Henry  always  likes  bacon  and 
eggs  for  breakfast.  He  is  particular  about  his  coffee, 
and  likes  it  strong;  but  I  am  sure  you  will  find  it  sim 
plifies  matters  only  to  have  to  plan  for  one  meal  a  day, 
as  he  takes  his  lunch  away  from  home.  A  young  house 
keeper  must  naturally,"  etc.,  etc. 

The  letter  ended  "  Yours  affectionately,  Christina 
Vassall " ;  but  there  was  a  postscript : 

"  I  am  sure  that  we  shall  one  day  see  eye  to  eye  in 
matters  of  religion." 

A  few  days  later  Mrs.  Vassall  wrote  again : 

"  It  occurs  to  me  that,  after  my  remarks  the  other  day 
about  Henry's  linen,  it  may  be  a  relief  to  you  if  I  say 
that  we  know  of  a  most  admirable  woman  who  exactly 
suits  him  in  shirts  and  collars.  She  is  Mrs.  Mahoney, 
of  Number  10  Egg  Street.  I  have  had  such  trouble 
with  them  hitherto ;  but  you  will  find  Mrs.  Mahoney  an 
excellent  woman,  and  especially  good  with  colored 
shirts,  doing  them  in  such  a  way  that  they  do  not  fade 
— except,  of  course,  the  mauve  ones." 

The  letter  ended  :  "  I  do  not  apologize  for  giving  you 
these  details.  Nothing  is  beneath  a  married  woman's 
supervision.  Besides,  I  know  how  earnestly  you  wish 
to  please  Henry  and  to  make  him  a  good  and  careful 
wife.  Yours  affectionately,  Christina  Vassall." 

Again  there  was  a  postscript : 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  come  to  one  of  our  Wednesday 
evenings  at  the  G.  G.  F.?  I  know  you  would  be  deeply 
interested  in  our  girls." 

96 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Petrina  kept  these  letters  to  herself.  She  acknowl 
edged  them  curtly  and  locked  them  up.  They  presented 
to  her  a  view  of  a  marriage  impossible  and  absurd. 
Written  to  her,  they  seemed  as  out  of  place  as  if  they 
had  been  sent  to  the  Queen  on  her  marriage  with  Prince 
Albert.  The  semi-religious  postscript,  which  never 
failed,  was  meant,  she  perceived,  to  be  the  gentle  drop 
ping  which  would  wear  away  the  stone  of  her  uncon 
verted  heart;  but  the  very  futility  of  the  process  in 
creased  her  scorn.  She  was  at  once  too  young,  too  im 
patient,  and  too  proud  to  treat  Mrs.  Vassall's  maternal 
anxieties  with  tenderness,  humor,  or  forbearance. 

She  could  more  easily  have  done  so  had  it  been  possible 
to  continue  thinking  of  Mrs.  Vassall  as  a  person  of  no 
importance.  But  the  little  lady,  so  fastidiously  unob 
trusive,  had  the  power  of  impressing  herself  on  those 
with  whom  she  had  to  do.  Petrina  felt  her  to  be  not 
only  a  strong  personality  in  herself,  but  a  personality 
supported  by  world-wide  usage  and  belief.  If  there  was 
to  be  any  struggle  between  them,  it  would  be  that  of 
individualism  with  duty,  of  unconventionality  with  tra 
dition,  of  will  unfettered  by  restraints  coming  from  the 
past  with  conscience  guided  by  the  counsels  of  a  God 
fearing  experience. 

Moreover,  Petrina  came  to  feel  that,  had  Mrs.  Vassall 
chosen,  she  could  have  equalled  her  on  her  own  ground ; 
that  she  could  have  wielded  that  social  power  which 
could  be  of  such  benefit  to  Boston.  This  revelation 
came  on  the  first  occasion  on  which  Petrina  and  Mrs. 
Faneuil  dined  at  the  old  house  in  Cambridge.  Both 
ladies  had  accepted  the  invitation  with  the  sense  of 
fulfilling  a  tedious  duty. 

"It  will  be  what  they  call  in  the  country  a  high-tea," 
said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  and  so  they  wore  gowns  of  only 
secondary  importance  in  their  wardrobes. 

97 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

They  found  themselves  mistaken.  The  spacious 
drawing-room,  lit  by  many  candles,  had  an  air  of  old- 
world  stateliness — the  stateliness  which  is  accustomed 
to  itself,  and  does  not  seem  to  say,  "Observe  what  a 
success  taste  and  skill  have  made  of  me/' 

The  guests  were  few  but  important — Pepperells  and 
Vassalls  whom  every  one  knew  by  name,  and  who  \vere 
equally  at  home  in  both  hemispheres.  The  Pepperell 
and  Vassall  silver  and  porcelain,  Petrina  acknowledged, 
were  more  beautiful  and  more  abundant  than  her  own. 
Vassall,  she  saw  with  satisfaction,  was  the  simplest, 
most  tactful,  and  most  considerate  of  hosts ;  but  Mrs. 
Vassall  was  a  surprise. 

The  fond  mother  who  wrote  of  bacon  and  eggs  and 
the  washing  of  colored  shirts  was  richly  dressed  in 
black  brocade,  with  laces  which  caused  Mrs.  Faneuil 
and  Petrina  to  exchange  comprehending  glances.  She 
wore  a  few  diamonds  of  which  the  settings  were  old- 
fashioned,  but  the  stones  themselves  superb.  She  re 
ceived  her  guests,  not  with  the  smiling  anxiety  of  one 
who  is  making  an  effort  to  entertain,  but  with  the  ease 
of  the  woman  of  the  wrorld  to  whom  the  task  is  familiar. 
She  directed  the  conversation  tactfully,  and  almost 
imperceptibly.  In  her  talk  there  was  no  reference  to 
religion,  or  Guilds  of  Friendship,  or  any  of  the  homely 
duties  in  which  her  soul  was  wrapped.  She  told  anec 
dotes  of  the  court  of  Queen  Isabella,  to  which  her  father 
had  been  minister,  and  added  reminiscences  of  the  House 
of  Savoy,  whose  members  she  had  known  when  Mr. 
Pepperell  had  been  removed  to  Turin.  She  talked 
with  that  pretty,  unconscious  brilliancy  which,  as 
Petrina  remarked,  Emmy  de  Bohun  must  have  in 
herited  with  her  beauty. 

But  the  guests  gone  and  the  lights  out,  Mrs.  Vassall 
took  off  her  diamonds  and  folded  up  her  laces  and  put 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

them  all  away.  Then  she  began  to  think  of  more  seri 
ous  things.  The  dinner  had  been  successful,  but  she 
was  accustomed  to  such  success.  She  received  rarely 
now,  but  she  had  had  much  experience  in  times  gone 
by.  Mere  entertaining  never  gave  her  any  anxiety  be 
forehand  and  but  little  satisfaction  afterwards.  It  was 
among  the  trifles  of  life,  and  its  success  or  failure  was 
a  matter  of  no  consequence.  She  cared  much  more  that 
her  Wednesday  evenings  with  "  her  girls  "  should  pass 
off  with  satisfaction  to  all  concerned,  and  she  had  never 
given  so  much  thought  to  any  function  at  the  Legation 
at  Madrid  as  she  now  spent  every  year  on  the  annual 
reception  given  to  the  members  of  her  parish  church. 

On  the  day  following  the  dinner  Petrina  received  a 
letter  wrhich,  after  the  first  formal  "  Dear  Petrina/'  went 
on  to  say :  "  I  had  no  opportunity  to  tell  you  last  night 
what  has  long  been  on  my  mind.  You  will  have  to 
watch  Henry  very  carefully  in  what  he  eats.  For  a 
strong  man  he  has  a  most  delicate  digestion.  He  is 
foolishly  fond  of  pastry,  and  you  will  find/'  etc.,  etc. 

The  postscript  ran : 

"  You  won't  forget  that  you  are  coming  out  some  time 
to  hear  Mr.  Corbett  preach.  We  shall  expect  you  to 
stay  to  luncheon." 

Petrina  read  the  letter  with  renewed  impatience.  Her 
reply  was  courteous,  but  her  decision  was  stronger  than 
ever  to  consider  in  marriage  no  ideas  but  her  own. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  was,  however,  a  satisfaction  to  find  that  Vassall 
was  unaware  of  the  correspondence  of  which  he  was 
the  subject.  Between  Petrina  and  Mrs.  Vassall  there 
was  a  tacit  understanding  that  their  letters  were  con 
fidential.  Where  men  are  concerned,  women  have  an 
instinct  for  strategy ;  and  a  husband  or  a  brother,  while 
nominally  doing  as  he  wills,  is  often  only  working  out 
the  plans  which  well-meaning  female  relatives  have 
made  for  him  in  secret.  Even  the  woman  who  is  treach 
erous  to  her  sex  in  love  or  friendship  is  rarely  other 
than  loyal  in  matters  of  domestic  conspiracy.  And 
thus  Petrina,  while  conscious  of  a  growing  exaspera 
tion  towards  the  mother,  was  silent  on  the  subject  tow 
ards  the  son. 

For  in  her  opinion  Vassall  was  a  perfect  lover. 

"No  one  could  bear  himself  better,"  she  often  said. 
Coming  from  her,  the  praise  was  high,  for  she  acknowl 
edged  herself  fastidious.  She  had  tasted  the  mingled 
pleasure  and  pain  of  refusing  many  suitors,  and  she 
had  made  mental  notes  about  them  all.  Love,  she 
observed,  sits  strangely  on  the  average  Anglo-Saxon. 
He  carries  it  as  awkwardly  as  the  ordinary  citizen 
wears  a  fancy  dress.  It  makes  him  self-conscious, 
unnatural,  and  ill  at  ease.  For  its  expression  our 
language  has  few  words,  and  our  habits  fewer  gest 
ures.  With  such  poverty  of  ready-made  resources,  the 
Anglo  -  Saxon  lover  has  need  of  a  grace  and  a  tact 
which  are  scarcely  native  in  order  not  to  be  grotesque. 

100 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

There  had  been  a  period  in  Petrina 's  history  when  she 
fancied  she  should  die  an  old  maid  for  lack  of  some 
one  who  could  fitly  declare  his  passion.  To  more 
than  one  man's  love-making  she  had  been  giving 
serious  consideration  until  he  had  put  himself  beyond 
further  thought  by  adopting  an  amatory  style  either 
stammering  or  stilted  or  theatrical  or  commonplace. 
There  was  a  time  when  Mrs.  Faneuil's  hopes  for 
Sir  George  Wallingford  might  have  been  fulfilled  had 
he  not  said  (while  smoking  a  cigar  and  leaning  on 
the  taffrail  of  a  yacht  off  Cannes),  "  Don't  you  think, 
dearest  girl,  that  we  might  pull  along  together?" 
Sir  George  was  an  excellent  young  man,  for  whom 
Petrina  had  a  certain  fondness.  Up  to  the  last  mo 
ment  she  had  been  in  doubt,  but  the  instant  was 
decisive.  She  could  never,  she  felt,  "pull  along" 
with  any  one;  she  could  never  respond  to  the  epithet 
of  "dearest  girl";  above  all,  she  could  never  marry 
a  man,  however  excellent,  who  offered  himself  between 
two  puffs  of  a  cigar. 

But  Vassall  was  beyond  her  criticism.  He  was  quiet, 
natural,  and  serious.  His  court  was  suggested  rather 
than  direct ;  his  tone  was  intimate  yet  deferential ;  and 
his  bearing  easy,  though  that  of  a  man  passionately 
in  love.  To  Petrina,  who  had  the  New  England  in 
stinct  for  restraint,  this  was  admirable.  She  saw  no 
reason  why  they  should  not  always  live  on  this  footing 
of  distant  familiarity;  they  might  be  courteous  with 
each  other,  confidential  even,  but  removed  from  any 
vulgar  clashing  of  opinions  and  wills. 

It  was,  therefore,  as  has  been  said,  somewhat  of  a 
shock  to  her  to  find  this  impossible.  A  moment  came 
when  she  began  to  realize  that  in  marriage  neither  hus 
band  nor  wife  can  always  rule  or  always  obey;  that 
they  cannot  even  revolve  apart  like  neighboring  stars. 

101 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

When  the  new  year  had  opened  they  began  to  talk 
of  practical  things.  Petrina  avoided  this  sort  of  dis 
cussion  as  much  as  possible.  It  seemed  to  bring  them 
out  of  the  ideal  into  the  commonplace.  It  suggested, 
too,  that  she  was  entering  into  Vassall's  life  rather 
than  he  into  hers.  She  disliked  making  plans  with 
him;  she  preferred  to  express  her  wishes.  She  took 
it  for  granted  that,  as  she  was  conferring  all  the  fa 
vors  (Vassall  himself  had  said  so  many  a  time),  it  would 
be  a  sufficient  career  for  him  to  carry  her  intentions 
out.  He  was  so  eager  to  serve  her  that  she  never  won 
dered  whether  or  not  he  had  desires  of  his  own.  He 
gave  her  so  large  a  place  in  his  life  that  she  was  sure 
there  was  nothing  of  any  consequence  outside. 

"I  am  going  to  startle  you,"  she  said,  smiling,  one 
evening  early  in  the  new  year. 

"That  is  so  easily  done,"  he  replied,  "that  the  sport 
is  scarcely  worth  your  prowess." 

"  When,  however,  there  is  no  big  game  at  hand,  one 
keeps  one's  self  in  practice  by  shooting  at  a  target." 

"In  my  capacity  of  target,  I  may  remark  that  you 
invariably  hit  the  bull's-eye." 

"Does  it  hurt?" 

" Mit  siisser  Pein  only." 

"  Then  I  need  have  no  compunction?" 

"  Not  for  any  such  arrows  of  wit  or  irony  as  you  have 
aimed  against  me  hitherto.  I  have  a  good  deal  of  sto 
lidity,  you  know." 

"  I  have  observed  it  in  you — " 

"  As  a  virtue,  I  hope?" 

"As  one  of  the  qualities  I  like.  It  is  negative,  but 
strong,  and  it  offers  me  a  background." 

"  If  it  is  all  the  same  to  you  I  would  rather  be  a  back 
ground  than  a  target." 

"  You  must  be  both.  I  expect  my  husband  to  stand 

102 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

before  me  as  the  object  of  my  favor,  and  behind  me  as 
a  foil." 

"To  be  in  two  places  at  once,  like  the  Irishman's 
bird." 

"  He  must  know  how  to  be  present  without  indiscre 
tion,  and  absent  without  being  missed.  Like  Char 
ity,  he  must  learn  to  bear  all  things,  endure  all 
things—" 

"And  hope  all  things,  I  presume." 

"Not  too  much,  otherwise  he  is  likely  to  be  disap 
pointed.  In  marriage  it  is  wisest  to  be  prepared  for  the 
worst ;  one  is  then  quite  grateful  for  second-best,  which 
is  the  average  of  what  one  receives." 

"Is  this  cynical  sentiment  the  shock  of  which  you 
warned  me?" 

"Not  at  all.  It  is  only  the  preliminary  to  its  inflic 
tion." 

"Then  may  I  beg  not  to  be  kept  longer  in  sus 
pense?" 

"  Are  your  nerves  steady?" 

"Not  very,  but,  all  the  same,  let  me  know  the  worst." 

"  I  have  decided  to  be  married  on  a  Friday." 

Vassall  looked  at  her  with  smiling  incredulity.  They 
were  in  the  library  of  Petrina's  house  in  Beacon  Street. 
The  room  was  large  and  luxurious.  The  walls  were 
well  lined  with  books,  and  the  only  picture  was  the  full- 
length  portrait  of  Petrina's  father — painted  by  Hunt. 
A  few  marble  busts  stood  in  corners,  while  on  the 
tables  were  some  of  Barye's  bronzes.  A  cheerful 
wood  fire  was  burning  in  the  chimney.  Petrina  and 
Vassall  sat  before  the  bright  blaze,  while  between 
them  stood  a  table  on  which  were  the  after  -  dinner 
coffee,  liqueurs,  and  cigarettes.  Mrs.  Faneuil  had 
discreetly  left  them  to  themselves. 

"Why  on  a  Friday?"  Vassall  asked.     "I  thought 

103 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

it  was  the  one  impossible  day.     Is  your  decision  meant 
to  be  a  challenge  to  superstition?" 

"Friday  is  my  lucky  day.  First  of  all,  I  was  born 
on  a  Friday — " 

"Then  it  is  my  lucky  day,  too." 

"  Then  my  father  and  mother  were  married  on  a  Fri 
day.  You  and  I  met  for  the  first  time  on  a  Friday; 
and  the  day  by  the  lake  at  Ashuelot  last  autumn  was 
a  Friday,  too." 

Petrina  said  the  last  words  softly,  and  one  of  the  rare 
blushes  stole  over  her  dark  cheek.  Vassall  leaned  for 
ward  and  took  her  hand. 

"  Then  Friday  let  it  be,"  he  said,  gently. 

"  You  are  not  shocked?" 

"  Enough  to  satisfy  your  love  of  shocking,  not  enough 
to  make  me  rebel  against  your  decree." 

"And  I  am  thinking  of  a  particular  Friday,"  she 
went  on.  Her  mood  had  gradually  softened  from 
that  of  banter  to  the  quiet  seriousness  in  which  she 
was  at  her  best. 

"It  happens,  curiously  enough,"  she  continued, 
"that  this  year  the  anniversary  of  my  father's  and 
mother's  wedding  falls  on  a  Friday  again.  I  can't 
quite  explain  to  you  what  this  means  to  me.  You 
would  probably  think  it  trivial.  But  when  one  cannot 
remember  one's  mother  and  can  barely  recall  one's 
father,  their  memory  takes  a  large  place  in  the  more 
serious  portion  of  one's  life.  My  thoughts  about  them 
are  a  mingling  of  pride  and  piety.  I  often  think  that, 
having  no  other  religion,  I  have  something  of  the  Chinese 
reverence  for  one's  ancestors.  The  very  fact  that  I 
cannot  feel  for  my  parents  the  simple  love  that  would 
have  come  from  having  lived  with  them  makes  it  a 
matter  of  filial  duty  to  connect  them  as  much  as  may 
be  with  the  important  moments  of  my  lifp." 

104 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"I  quite  understand  that." 

"  I  owe  them  so  much ;  not  only  birth,  but  name  and 
honor  and  means  and  so  much  besides.  And  all  I  can 
do  for  them  is  to  think  of  them,  to  commemorate  them, 
so  to  speak,  by  linking  the  events  of  my  life  to  those  of 
theirs.  It  has  been  to  me  a  matter  of  something  more 
than  sentiment  to  think  that  if  I  ever  married  it  should 
be  upon  their  wedding-day." 

"  Which  falls  on—  ?" 

"The  first  Friday  in  April." 

Vassall  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her  hand. 

"  There  is  something  else  I  wish  to  say,"  Petrina  went 
on  as  Vassall  raised  himself.  Then  she  paused. 

"Yes?     I  am  listening." 

"  No ;  not  to-night,"  she  added,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone.  "  We  have  talked  enough  for  the  present.  One 
step  at  a  time  is  the  surest  method  of  going  on." 

Vassall  had  enough  to  think  of  and  did  not  insist. 

"The  first  Friday  in  April,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
went  homewards.  "  Only  twro  months  now ;  and  yet  so 
long  to  wait." 


CHAPTER  X 

"THE  first  Friday  in  April,"  Vassall  said  next  morn 
ing  at  breakfast,  in  reply  to  his  mother. 

He  did  not  look  up,  but  he  was  conscious  of  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  him  in  cold  surprise. 

"The  first  Friday?"  she  exclaimed.  "A  Friday? 
You  mean  that  Petrina  wishes  to  be  married  on  a — ? 
Oh,  it  is  impossible,  Harry!  You  must  have  made  a 
mistake.  No  girl  in  her  senses — " 

Vassall  repeated  what  Petrina  had  said  of  Friday 
as  her  lucky  day. 

"Extraordinary,"  was  Mrs.  Vassall's  only  comment. 
"But  isn't  it  in  Lent?"  she  asked,  after  a  slight  pause. 
"  And  isn't  it — ?  Yes,  I  am  almost  sure  it  is." 

She  rose  quickly  and  left  the  room.  Vassall  guessed 
her  meaning,  and  waited  anxiously  for  her  return. 
When  she  re-entered  she  was  examining  the  first  pages 
of  a  Book  of  Common  Prayer. 

Vassall  rose  and  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Here  it  is,"  she  said,  her  voice  trembling  with  re 
pressed  excitement.  "April  5th,  Good  Friday.  You 
can't  be  married  on  Good  Friday." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  he  assented.  "She  couldn't 
have  thought  of  it." 

"You  didn't  know,"  he  said  to  Petrina  after  dinner 
on  the  same  day — "  you  didn't  know  that  Good  Fridaj7 
falls  this  year  in  the  first  week  in  April?" 

"  Does  it?"  she  asked,  indifferently. 

"  It  will  interfere,  therefore,  with  the  date  you  have 

106 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

fixed  for  our  wedding.  It  didn't  occur  to  me  till  my 
mother  reminded  me  of  it." 

Petrina  lifted  her  head  haughtily.  She  was  con 
scious  of  a  rising  sense  of  anger.  She  had  again  the 
feeling  of  being  in  conflict  with  some  force  of  whose 
nature  and  name  she  was  ignorant.  She  called  it 
sometimes  religion,  sometimes  conventionality,  some 
times  provinciality,  but  it  was  too  indefinable  to  seize. 
It  was  personified  for  her  in  Vassall's  mother,  with 
her  deliberate  asceticism  and  housekeeping  piety; 
but  it  was  like  a  mysterious  power  blocking  her  way. 
It  seemed  to  say,  "You  are  Petrina  Faneuil  and  nom 
inally  free;  but  you  shall  do  nothing  except  as  others 
have  done  it  before  you.  You  shall  not  sweep  through 
life  over  some  highway  of  your  own;  you  shall  creep 
through  all  the  well-worn  by-paths  along  which  alone 
you  are  expected." 

Up  to  the  present  she  had  never  gone  beyond  the 
beaten  track  of  travel,  pleasure,  and  youth.  In  her 
engagement  and  marriage  she  was  striking  out  more 
boldly.  It  was  therefore  a  rude  surprise  to  be  told  that 
even  the  rich  and  the  young  in  this  sophisticated  world 
are  less  like  nomads,  free  to  wander  at  will,  than  like 
prisoners,  obliged  to  walk  by  routine  and  in  companies. 
Since  the  day  of  her  first  visit  to  Mrs.  Vassall  at  Cam 
bridge  this  fact  had  been  presented  to  her  from  so  many 
points  of  view  that  she  was  compelled  to  reflect  upon 
it;  but  it  was  always  with  renewed  determination  to 
force  circumstances  to  her  will. 

It  was  this  very  reflection  which  caused  her  pres 
ent  anger.  Hitherto  she  had  chafed  in  secret.  Now 
she  had  received  an  open  check.  She  was  told  that 
something  she  had  very  near  at  heart  could  not  be 
allowed.  Had  she  been  in  the  mind  for  introspection 
she  would  have  seen  that  never  in  her  life  had  she  been 

107 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

so  angry  as  now.  Had  she  been  able  to  analyze  her 
emotions  she  would  have  perceived  that,  beneath  the 
impatient  assertion  that  she  should  do  precisely  as  she 
pleased,  there  was  a  common-sense  sub-consciousness 
that  she  could  not  be  married  on  Good  Friday.  She 
knew  already  that  she  was  holding  a  position  from 
which  she  should  be  obliged  to  retire,  but  for  the  mo 
ment  her  judgment  was  overborne  by  the  determina 
tion  not  to  yield. 

"  Why  should  it  make  any  difference?" 

Her  voice  shook  a  little,  in  spite  of  her  effort  after 
self-control. 

"  We  couldn't  be  married  on  Good  Friday,  you  know." 

He  spoke  as  a  man  stating  a  fact  too  obvious  for 
argument. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  we  couldn't.     It  isn't  possible." 

"Isn't  that  what  you  would  call  a  woman's  reason?" 

"Perhaps,  but  it  sums  up  all  the  reasons  there 
are." 

"It  doesn't  appeal  to  me." 

"But,  dear  Petrina,  you  never  heard  of  any  one  be 
ing  married  on  Good  Friday." 

"I  have  never  taken  the  trouble  to  observe;  but  I 
fancy  that  if  you  were  to  look  at  one  of  last  year's  pa 
pers  of  the  morning  following  that  day  you  would  find 
that  there  are  people  in  the  world  to  whom  your  new 
moons  and  sabbaths  mean  nothing  at  all." 

"Doubtless  there  are  such  people,  but  not  of  our 
sort." 

"Not  of  yours,  perhaps,  but  of  mine." 

She  spoke  in  her  usual  low  voice,  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  smile.  She  was  sure  of  herself  now,  and  knew 
that  she  could  carry  on  the  discussion  without  any  ill- 
bred  show  of  annoyance.  Vassall  himself  was  cle- 

108 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

ceived  by  her  calmness.  He,  too,  smiled,  not  suspect 
ing  the  intensity  of  her  feeling.  He  took  it  for  granted 
that  with  a  little  explanation  she  would  see  the  matter 
as  he  did. 

He  threw  the  end  of  his  cigarette  into  the  fire,  and 
looked  at  her  with  steady  gentleness.  Petrina  took  a 
hand-screen  and  shaded  her  face,  protecting  herself  less 
from  the  firelight  than  from  his  quiet  gaze. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  softly,  "that  you  don't  think  as 
we  do  in  matters  of  religion.  You  and  I  have  never 
talked  of  that,  and,  if  we  ever  do,  you  will  be  the  one 
to  begin.  I  want  you  to  feel  quite  free — " 

"Thanks.     I  am  not  accustomed  to  feel  otherwise." 

"I  want  you  to  feel  quite  free,"  he  went  on,  paying 
no  attention  to  this  shot,  "to  speak  on  the  subject  or 
to  be  silent.  Some  day,  perhaps,  as  we  grow  nearer 
together,  you  will  be  able  to  enter  into  my  feelings 
more  easily  than  now/' 

Petrina  shook  her  head. 

"How  strong,"  she  thought,  "  the  missionary  instinct 
is  in  all  these  people !  Even  in  Harry  it  is  showing  it 
self  at  last." 

"  You  are  like  your  mother,"  she  said,  aloud. 

"Of  course  we  can't  help  hoping — " 

"Then  please  don't,"  she  interrupted,  with  an  im 
patient  movement  of  the  hand-screen.  In  the  act  Vas- 
sall  saw  that  she  was  slightly  flushed. 

"Please  don't,"  she  repeated.  "I  have  no  instinct 
of  that  sort.  To  my  mind  religion  is  a  taste  like  any 
other — like  a  love  of  music  or  a  fancy  for  collecting 
postage-stamps.  I  shall  never  share  it;  I  shall  never 
even  understand  it.  For  me  the  subject  is  of  no  im 
portance.  Don't  try  to  force  it  on  me,  Harry,  because 
it  would  be  labor  thrown  away." 

"I  should  never  think  of  doing  so." 

109 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

"Then  we  shall  consider  our  wedding  day  fixed  for 
the  first  Friday  in  April." 

"  I  can't  say  that,  dear.  You  yourself  will  see  it  on 
reflection.  Whatever  our  private  beliefs  may  be,  the 
fact  remains  that  we  live  in  a  Christian  land — " 

"Do  we?  I  didn't  know  it.  That  circumstance,  at 
least,  has  never  been  unduly  urged  upon  me." 

"  And,"  he  went  on,  "  we  have  no  right  to  offend  pub 
lic  opinion  by  choosing  for  our  marriage  the  one  day 
which  is  least  suitable." 

"  In  England  Good  Friday  is  the  day  when  the  cricket 
season  opens.  In  France  it  used  to  be  the  day  when 
women  of  society  drove  in  the  Bois  to  inaugurate  the 
fashions  for  the  coming  year.  In  this  country  it  has 
never  been  any  day  at  all." 

"  It  is,  at  least,  a  great  anniversary." 

"Yes,  for  me.     You  seem  to  have  forgotten  that." 

"  No,  dear ;  I  do  not  forget  it.  But  for  us  the  com 
memoration  is  more  than  that  of  any  private  or  family 
event." 

"  And  yet  private  and  family  events  are  those  which 
touch  us  most  closely." 

"Not  always." 

"Not  always,  perhaps;  but  certainly  here.  Good 
Friday,  as  you  call  it,  is,  if  I  remember  rightly,  the  con 
ventional — not  the  real — anniversary  of  the  day  on 
which  the  founder  of  your  Church  was  crucified.  He 
is  at  best  a  far-away  and  mysterious  personage,  who 
is  nothing  to  me,  and,  I  should  think,  very  little  to  you." 

"You  don't  understand,  dear,"  he  began,  but  she 
would  not  be  interrupted. 

"He  died  many  centuries  ago.  Your  grief  for  that 
occurrence  cannot  be  extreme.  I  question  if,  as  the 
day  comes  round  each  year,  you  and  your  fellow-be 
lievers  give  much  more  thought  than  I  do  to  what  is 

no 


Let  Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

supposed  to  have  taken  place  on  Calvary.  If  you  have 
any  emotion  at  all  it  is  probably  fictitious  and  conven 
tional;  but  I  venture  to  think  it  isn't  even  that." 

"The  significance  of  the  day  is  not  in  our  feeling, 
but  in  what  we  consider  to  be  a  great  redemptive 
fact." 

"  I  should  be  better  able  to  follow  you  there  if  I  saw 
that  Christians  themselves  laid  any  emphasis  upon  it." 

"More,  perhaps,  than  you  think." 

"  Very  likely.  I  will  not  dispute  you.  The  question 
is  nothing  to  me.  I  am  trying  only  to  point  out  that 
while  the  day  I  have  fixed  for  our  marriage  is  for  you 
an  occasion  of  only  simulated  feeling,  it  is  for  me  one 
which  touches  the  most  sensitive  fibres  of  my  life." 

Nevertheless,  as  they  talked  on,  it  was  more  and 
more  with  the  understanding  that  Vassall's  decision 
would  be  the  final  one.  Unconsciously  Petrina  found 
herself  speaking  as  though  she  had  given  way.  It 
was  as  if  she  had  been  carried  down  by  a  strong  but 
gentle  tide.  She  was  so  little  used  to  opposition  that 
when  it  came  it  took  her  by  surprise.  She  even  al 
lowed  him  to  depart  without  assuring  him  that  her 
mind  was  still  unchanged.  He  did  not  suspect  that 
she  was  hurt.  A  man  has  less  often  than  a  woman 
the  impulse  to  look  behind  appearances.  Vassall  took 
facts  as  he  found  them,  and  went  his  way  homeward, 
pleased  with  himself  and  her. 

"Poor  little  thing,"  he  thought,  "it  was  hard  for  her 
to  give  up  her  mother's  wedding-day,  but  how  pluckily 
and  prettily  she  did  it!"  • 

But  a  little  later,  after  she  had  changed  her  evening 
dress  for  a  robe  that  floated  and  fell  about  her  like 
some  long,  lace-like  mountain  cascade,  Petrina  slipped 
into  her  stepmother's  bedroom.  It  was  not  late,  and 
Mrs.  Faneuil,  also  comfortably  clad  in  something  soft 

in 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

and  gorgeous,  like  a  sunset  cloud,  was  in  the  act  of 
stamping  the  letters  she  had  just  written  and  addressed. 

"Is  Mr.  Vassall  gone?" 

"Obviously/'  said  Petrina,  crossly.  "Do  you  sup 
pose  I  have  left  him  down-stairs?" 

"I  didn't  know/'  Mrs.  Faneuil  replied,  calmly.  "I 
am  always  finding  your  belongings  in  unexpected 
places." 

"  He  isn't  my  property  yet." 

"But  so  soon  to  be!" 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen. " 

"  The  fifth  of  April  will  not  be  long  in  coming  round." 

"Did  you  know  it  was  Good  Friday?" 

"Good  gracious!"  Mrs.  Faneuil  exclaimed,  as  she 
rose  from  her  writing  -  table  and  came  where  Petrina 
was  seated  before  the  fireplace.  "  I  never  thought  of  it. 
Did  you?" 

"No." 

"How  tiresome!" 

"Why?    What  has  it  to  do  with  us?" 

Petrina  was  in  one  arm-chair.  Mrs.  Faneuil  sank 
into  another. 

"  It  has  everything  to  do  with  us.  You  can't  possi 
bly  be  married  on  Good  Friday." 

"But  I  mean  to  be." 

"Then  there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  I  shall  be  at 
your  wedding,  of  course;  but  there  will  be  no  one  else 
there." 

This  was  a  new  idea  to  Petrina,  and  it  struck  her 
forcibly.  She  had  little  intention  of  being  married  in 
conspicuously.  With  no  vulgar  wish  for  display,  she 
took  it  for  granted  that  anything  less  than  a  handsome 
and  representative  gathering  of  Boston's  best  would  be 
unworthy  of  the  nuptials  of  the  head  of  the  house  of 
Faneuil.  Besides,  it  was  thus  that  she  secretly  meant 

112 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

to  inaugurate  her  social  reign.  Her  wedding  was  to  be 
the  first  of  those  events  which  were  in  time  to  re-unite 
Boston's  scattered  social  forces.  As  she  thought  over 
Mrs.  Faneuil's  words,  her  annoyance  became  anxiety. 

"Do  you  think  many  would  stay  away?"  she  asked, 
after  a  few  minutes'  reflection. 

"I  think  every  one  would  stay  away.  It  would  be 
considered  most  extraordinary." 

"I  shouldn't  mind  that  if  they  would  only  come." 

"But  who  would  come?  Just  think.  Certainly  the 
Hammerfields  wouldn't  be  there." 

"I  could  do  without  their  benediction." 

"Nor  the  Longswords." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  for  that,  but — " 

"You  could  do  without  them,  too?" 

"Precisely." 

"And  you  could  do  without  the  Skeffingtons,  and 
the  Marchbanks,  and  the  Fenboroughs,  and  the  Rip- 
ley  Brownes,  Mind  you,  I'm  counting  only  the  Epis 
copalians." 

"  But  there  are  hosts  of  Unitarians  to  whom  one  day 
would  be  the  same  as  another." 

"There  you  are  wrong.     I  am  a  Unitarian  myself." 

"Mais  si  peu." 

"Si  peu,  if  you  like,  but  still  enough  to  know  how 
they  feel.  For  all  those  ecclesiastical  days  they  are 
getting  to  be  as  bad  as  the  Episcopalians.  I  think  it 
is  quite  right,  too.  I  remember  distinctly  that  in  the 
Newbury  Street  Church  last  year  they  kept  Good  Fri 
day  on  the  Sunday  before,  and  on  Easter  day  the  pul 
pit  was  banked  with  flowers.  No,  there  wouldn't  be 
even  a  Unitarian  at  your  wedding,  Petrina.  You  may 
take  my  word  for  it,  and  there  is  nothing  so  dreary  as 
an  empty  church." 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  be  married  in  a  church." 

113 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Mrs.  Faneuil  sat  straight  up  in  her  chair,  and  looked 
a  little  aghast. 

"Do  you  mean,"  she  said,  speaking  slowly  and  with 
tragic  emphasis,  "that  the  service  is  to  be  performed 
in  a  parlor,  under  a  floral  bell?" 

Petrina  shuddered. 

"No,  not  that." 

"Then  what?" 

"I  haven't  decided  yet,"  she  faltered. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  dryly.  "If 
you  have  not  decided,  there  is  still  hope." 

"  I  had  not  meant  to  have  any  religious  service  at 
all." 

•    Mrs.  Faneuil  sank  back  again  into  her  chair  with  a 
dramatic  air  of  weariness. 

"You  think  of  being  hand-fasted,  perhaps?" 

Petrina  did  not  reply. 

"Or  do  you  mean  to  go  before  a  justice  of  the  peace? 
I  believe  that  is  sometimes  done,  especially  among  the 
lower  classes." 

"I  haven't  thought  out  the  details." 

"So  I  should  suppose." 

"  I  want  to  be  married  as  my  mother  was.  She  must 
have  been  absolutely  sincere.  She  would  have  at  her 
wedding  nothing  in  which  she  did  not  believe." 

"I  remember." 

"She  would  have  no  meaningless  ceremony;  she 
would  take  no  self-insulting  vows;  she  refused  even 
the  empty  symbolism  of  a  wedding-ring." 

"I  can  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  was  only  a  young 
girl  at  the  time,  but  I  had  my  wits  about  me." 

"I  want  to  do  as  she  did,  not  merely  because  I  hold 
her  opinions,  but  because  I  cherish  her  memory." 

"Certainly,  dear.  You  are  wholly  right.  But  it 
ought  to  be  within  the  limits  of  the  practical." 

114 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"  But  I  see  no  insurmountable  difficulty — " 

"You  should  remember  that  your  mother's  views 
about  life  were  wholly  different  from  yours.  She  lived 
at  a  time  when  public  opinion  was  in  a  ferment  about 
many  things  concerning  which  it  is  now  either  indif 
ferent  or  inactive.  The  Boston  to  which  she  belonged 
was  not  that  of  to-day.  She  was  one  of  the  last  of  those 
who  had  been  the  Transcendentalists.  She  was  too 
late  for  Brook  Farm,  but  just  in  time  for  The  Origin  of 
Species  and  the  first  Agnosticism.  She  was  as  pretty 
as  a  picture  and  as  clever  as  Margaret  Fuller.  Before 
she  was  married  her  little  group  of  followers  looked 
upon  her  as  the  apostle  of  a  new  movement.  I  don't 
know  just  what  the  movement  was,  but  it  was  very 
radical  and  enthusiastic.  Almost  everybody  got  into 
a  state  of  'honest  doubt/  as  they  called  it,  and  adver 
tised  the  loss  of  religious  convictions.  The  fewer  they 
had  to  lose  the  more  they  talked  about  them ;  and  the 
less  they  understood  the  teachings  of  Darwin  and  Comte 
and  Herbert  Spencer  the  more  they  hurled  them  at  your 
head.  The  young  men  especially  posed  dreadfully — " 

"I  am  sure  my  mother  never  posed." 

"  No ;  she  at  least  was  in  earnest.  So  was  your  poor 
father,  though  his  ardor  cooled  down  in  later  life.  I 
think  the  movement  got  its  first  blow  when  they  became 
engaged.  The  little  group  to  whom  your  mother  was 
a  prophetess  showed  at  once  a  tendency  to  break  up. 
Its  members  rallied  a  little  for  her  wedding,  which  was 
made  an  exposition  of  their  teachings,  but  their  real 
earnestness  was  gone.  The  worst  was  that,  after  her 
marriage,  your  poor  mother  became  like  anybody  else. 
She  had  fought  for  woman's  independence  of  man,  and 
then  couldn't  bear  your  father  out  of  her  sight.  She 
wouldn't  say  the  word  obey  when  they  were  married, 
and  then  simply  lived  to  carry  out  his  orders.  She  re- 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

fused  a  wedding-ring,  but  the  one  he  gave  her  after 
wards  never  left  her  finger,  and  she  wore  it  to  her  grave. " 

"Her  convictions,  however,  didn't  change." 

"No,  perhaps  not.  But  they  were  convictions  for 
which  in  those  days  the  people  who  held  them  sup 
posed  they  had  to  fight.  It  was  the  part  of  courage  to 
stand  to  one's  guns.  But  who  cares  about  such  ideas 
now?" 

"Many  people,  I  fancy." 

"Yes,  but  not  you,  nor  I,  nor  Mr.  Vassall,  nor  any 
of  our  friends.  The  same  questions  may  still  be  burn 
ing  in  remote  country  places  and  in  the  women's  clubs, 
but  not  here  in  Beacon  Street,  nor  among  people  like 
ourselves.  They  may  deal  with  highly  important  sub 
jects  for  aught  I  know,  but  they  are  terribly  vieux  jeu." 

Petrina  shuddered  again.  She  had  not  seen  the  mat 
ter  in  this  light  before.  T 

"I  always  meant  to  be  married  as  my  mother  was," 
she  said,  for  want  of  other  argument.  "Do  you  re 
member  what  it  looked  like?"  .  i 

"The  ceremony?  Yes;  it  was  in  a  hall.  I  was 
there  with  my  father  and  mother.  I  distinctly  recall 
that  it  was  very  brief  and  businesslike.  George  Cur- 
tois,  the  Positivist — Frederic  Harrison's  friend — per 
formed  the  service,  if  service  it  could  be  called;  and 
there  was  some  sort  of  magistrate  to  make  the  ceremony 
legal.  Your  mother  wouldn't  have  bridesmaids,  be 
cause  they  implied  that  a  woman  was  weak  and  needed 
attendance;  neither  would  she  wear  a  veil,  because  the 
veil  was  typical  of  woman's  shyness  and  seclusion. 
She  was  bewitching,  however,  in  a  plum-colored  walk 
ing  costume  made  with  an  overskirt  and  panniers ;  and 
she  wore  a  plum-colored  turban.  What  the  occasion 
lacked  was  something  sentimental  and  picturesque.  You 
may  spend  all  your  taste  and  energy  on  a  function  of 

116 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

that  kind,  and  yet  it  will  always  be  gaunt  and  colorless 
as  compared  with  a  wedding  in  a  church/' 

"But  when  one  doesn't  believe  in  churches?" 

"  I  understood  that  Mr.  Vassall  did." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he—" 

"He  doesn't  count,  perhaps." 

"He  would  naturally  do  as  I  wished." 

Petrina  said  this  boldly,  but  with  an  unpleasant 
twinge  of  doubt. 

"  In  that  case  you  have  only  to  make  your  own  plans. 
You  may  count  on  my  aid  in  carrying  your  wishes  out. 
But  if  you  want  anything  like  a  real  wedding — " 

"I  do  want  that,  of  course." 

"Then  I  should  abandon,  if  I  were  you,  all  thought 
of  going  back  to  the  early  seventies,  or  of  being  mar 
ried  on  Good  Friday.  I  can't  yet  understand  how 
Henry  Vassall,  with  all  his  Episcopalian  connection, 
could  have  agreed  to  the  proposition." 

"He  didn't." 

"  Then  how—  ?" 

"I  shall  have  to  insist.     That's  all." 

Mrs.  Faneuil  sat  for  some  minutes  looking  at  her 
stepdaughter  in  silence. 

"Do  you  know,  Petrina,"  she  asked  at  last,  "why 
a  wedding  is  like  a  quarrel?" 

"Is  it  a  riddle,  mamma?" 

"Yes,  and  home-made." 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  for  the  answer." 

"  Because  it  takes  two  to  make  it.  It  is  a  riddle  with 
a  moral." 

"Pointed  at  me?" 

"Straight.  You  talk  of  getting  married  as  though 
you  were  the  only  person  concerned.  You  seem  to  for 
get  that  there  is  to  be  a  bridegroom  who  may  have 
wishes  of  his  own." 

117 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"I  don't  forget  it.  He  has  many  wishes,  but  they 
can  all  be  expressed  in  one." 

"Which  is  to  please  you,  I  suppose?" 

"I  haven't  said  so,  but  if  you  choose  to  think  it — " 

"I?  I  don't  think  anything  of  the  kind.  Your 
Henry  is  the  meekest  of  men — so  long  as  it  suits  him. 
He  is  like  the  bishop  of  whom  it  was  said  that  a  little 
child  could  lead  him — the  way  he  wanted  to  go.  Don't 
try  any  experiments  on  him." 

"There  is  no  need  to.     I  am  sure  beforehand." 

"Of  Good  Friday?" 

"Practically." 

"Then  don't  insist  upon  it.  I  question  the  good 
taste,  not  to  say  the  wisdom,  of  such  a  step.  It  would 
surely  be  repugnant  to  his  mother,  if  not  to  him." 

"But  I  am  not  marrying  his  mother." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are.  There  is  a  sense  in  which  you 
are  marrying  the  whole  family — every  Vassall  and  Pep- 
perell  among  them." 

"Don't,  mother  1" 

"  You  may  groan,  my  child,  but  I'm  telling  you  the 
truth.  People  cannot  marry  to  themselves  alone.  As 
an  institution,  matrimony  is  most  inclusive.  When 
Mr.  Vassall  marries  you  he,  in  some  sort,  marries  me. 
I  shall  be  his  mother-in-law,  and  shall  refuse  myself 
none  of  the  pleasures  of  the  position.  In  marrying 
him  you  make  Mrs.  Vassall  yours.  You  give  her  cer 
tain  rights — " 

"Oh,  mamma,  spare  me!"  Petrina  cried,  rising  and 
beginning  to  move  nervously  about  the  room. 

"I  may  spare  you,  but  your  future  relations  won't. 
If  you  choose  to  marry  among  them,  you  give  them 
the  right  to  expect  from  you  a  certain  line  of  conduct. 
You  mustn't  begin  by  deliberately  running  counter  to 
all  their  cherished  prejudices  and  pet  convictions." 

118 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Petrina  came  up  behind  Mrs.  Faneuil  and  slipped 
her  arm  over  the  elder  woman's  shoulder. 

"I  don't  believe/'  she  said,  "that  it  is  worth  while 
taking  the  trouble  to  have  a  stepmother  who  can  be  so 
nice  and  who  is  so — " 

"  I  will  excuse  you  the  other  adjective,  my  dear.  I 
never  cared  for  antithesis  of  that  kind.  But  you  see 
again  that  it  is  the  effect  of  marriage.  When  I  took 
your  father,  I  took  you.  Now  we've  got  to  make  the 
best  of  each  other." 

Petrina  stooped  and  laid  her  hot  cheek  on  her  moth 
er's  soft  brown  hair. 

"Well,"  she  said,  wearily,  "I  suppose  I  had  better 
break  off  my  engagement." 

"Perhaps  that  would  be  wiser,"  Mrs.  Faneuil  as 
sented  complacently,  rising  as  she  spoke. 

"There  never  was  any  one  quite  so  unsatisfactory 
as  you,  mamma,"  Petrina  cried,  clasping  her  hands  be 
hind  her  mother's  neck  and  looking  down  into  her  eyes. 
"That  wasn't  at  all  your  cue.  You  should  have  op 
posed  me.  Then  I  would  have  broken  it  off.  Now  I 
sha'n't.  I  shall  go  on  with  it." 

"There  is  one  thing  I  should  certainly  do  in  your 
plaee." 

"Something  unpleasant,  I  suppose,"  said  Petrina, 
moving  away  again. 

"I  should  go  to  bed  and  try  to  sleep  myself  into  a 
healthy,  conventional  frame  of  mind,  and  get  up  in  the 
morning  thinking  like  other  people." 

" But  I'm  not  like  other  people." 

"More's  the  pity.     It's  your  chief  defect." 

"And  I  hate  the  conventional." 

"Though  there  is  nothing  that  suits  you  so  well. 
The  conventional  is  only  what  the  united  good  taste 
of  mankind  has  found  to  be  the  most  becoming. " 

119 


Let   Not   Man    Put    Asunder 

"Not  to  all  styles,  perhaps." 

"No;  I  suppose  we  may  except  the  idiotic  and  de 
formed.  But,"  she  added,  with  a  yawn,  "it  is  really 
too  late  to  discuss  the  subject.  If  you  can  do  without 
your  beauty  sleep,  I  can't." 

"One  can  see  that  you've  always  had  it." 

"Thanks  awfully,  and  the  same  to  you.  Et  main- 
tenant  file !" 

Mrs.  Faneuil  pointed  to  the  door.  Petrina  laughed 
in  spite  of  her  vague  feeling  of  discontent. 

"Oh,  if  you  want  to  be  vulgar — " 

"I  shall  be  anything  that  gives  me  the  freedom  of 
my  own  room.  Besides,  vulgarity  in  French  is  never 
without  some  distinction." 

"Like  the  women  one  sees  on  the  French  stage — ill- 
bred,  but  immensely  chic." 

"If  you  like,  my  child,  mais  file  quand  meme." 

"  I  can  say  the  same  thing  in  French  much  more  shock 
ingly  than  you.  I  heard  the  Due  de  Ruynes  berating 
his  servant  one  day.  He  was  wonderfully  histrionic 
and  direct.  He  said,  fiche  le  camp,  sacre — " 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Petrina,  say  it  to  yourself,  what 
ever  it  is — and  go." 

"  If  you  mean  that  for  a  hint — " 

"I  mean  it  for  something  a  great  deal  stronger.  T 
am  sleeping  on  my  feet,  and  if — " 

But  Petrina  laughed  again,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  FEW  days  later  Petrina  announced  to  Vassall  that 
she  had  fixed  another  date  for  her  wedding-day. 

"The  Thursday  after  Easter/'  she  said. 

So  many  difficulties  were  solved  by  this  decision  that 
Vassall  thought  it  prudent  not  to  ask  her  reasons  for 
the  change. 

"As  you  think  best,  of  course/'  he  assented.  "My 
only  regret  is  that  it  should  be  nearly  a  week  later." 

"All  things  considered,  it  is  the  day  that  suits  me/' 
Petrina  said,  untruthfully.  She  was  trying  hard  to 
persuade  herself  that  the  decision  was  not  forced  upon 
her.  "I  naturally  want  to  take  everything  into  con 
sideration,  so  as  to  offend  no  one's  prejudices." 

"That  is  so  like  you,  dear." 

"On  the  contrary,  Harry,  it  is  not  at  all  like  me. 
I  do  it  only  because  I  think  that  under  the  circumstances 
it  is  wisest.  But  it  will  be  no  precedent.  After  our 
marriage  I  shall  expect  to  be  free  to  follow  my  own — " 

"Of  course,  of  course,  dearest,"  said  Vassall,  hastily. 
"Some  days  ago,  if  you  remember,"  he  went  on,  "you 
told  me  you  had  other  things  to  say  in  this  connection." 

"Yes;  but  I  have  already  talked  them  over  with 
mamma,  and  I  think  I  need  not  trouble  you  with  them. 
What  church  would  you  like  to  be  married  in?" 

So  Petrina  yielded  all  the  points  on  which  she  had 
intended  to  be  firm.  She  made  her  plans  for  a  wedding 
that  would  be  just  like  any  other  girl's.  This  was 
the  end  of  a  cherished  sentiment ;  but  she  was  begin- 

121 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

ning  to  learn  that  the  taste  of  life  could  be  unpleasant. 
She  was  too  reasonable  not  to  see  that  her  ideas  were 
impracticable;  but  she  was  not  reasonable  enough  to 
understand  that  Vassall  was  not  to  blame  therefor. 
She  had  concealed  from  him  the  views  on  the  marriage 
service  she  had  expressed  to  Mrs.  Faneuil ;  and  yet  she 
had  a  feeling  that  it  was  his  fault  if  those  views  could 
not  be  carried  out.  She  loved  him;  of  that  she  had 
no  doubt;  but  there  was  no  altruism  in  her  love — none 
of  that  impulse  towards  self-surrender  which  makes 
passion  noble.  Altruism  is  a  Christian  quality;  and 
Petrina  was  a  pagan.  She  had  been  trained  not  to 
yield,  but  to  exact;  not  to  minister  to  others'  happiness, 
but  to  have  others  minister  to  hers.  She  was  not  self 
ish  ;  she  was  only  unconscious  that  there  was  any  other 
way  to  live.  Self-denial  was  a  word  of  which  she  did 
not  know  the  meaning.  Self-discipline  was  not  in  the 
language  she  spoke.  Her  attitude  towards  marriage 
was  that  which  she  assumed  towards  the  world;  it 
was  not  to  give,  but  to  get;  not  to  enter  into  a  hus 
band's  life,  but  to  absorb  a  husband's  in  her  own. 
Her  Puritan  tendency  towards  self-torture  was  coun 
teracted  by  her  pagan  instinct  for  self  -  love.  She  nei 
ther  analyzed  nor  judged  herself.  She  only  took  it 
superbly  for  granted  that  there  was  nothing  in  heaven 
above,  in  the  earth  beneath,  or  in  the  soul  of  man,  which 
Petrina  Faneuil  had  not  the  right  to  ask  in  return  for 
her  wealth  and  her  name  and  the  honor  of  her  hand. 
This  was  not  precisely  pride;  it  was  only  the  right  of 
her  personality  and  birth — a  right  which  there  was 
none  to  question. 

That  she  should  be  checked  in  details  was,  there 
fore,  something  she  could  not  explain.  That  Vassall 
should  love  her  and  at  the  same  time  be  of  another 
mind  than  hers  was  a  fact  which  caused  her  a  painful 

122 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

astonishment.  It  was  a  sort  of  love  which  she  could 
not  understand ;  which  she  could  only  brood  over,  ques 
tion,  and — return. 

It  was  not  that  he  opposed  her  much.  As  the  win 
ter  went  by  he  seemed  to  yield  in  everything.  There 
had  even  been  an  important  matter  in  which  she  had 
set  his  wishes  aside.  This  pleased  her,  not  from  the 
vulgar  vanity  of  having  scored  a  point,  but  from  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  life  flow  into  its  smooth  and  nat 
ural  course. 

They  had  begun  talking  of  their  wedding-tour. 
•  "Where  would  you  like  to  go?"  Petrina  asked,  and 
Vassall  told  her.  He  had  arranged  a  beautiful  jour 
ney,  quite  to  the  taste  of  the  student  of  civic  and  philan 
thropic  affairs.  They  were  to  begin  at  Elmira,  where 
they  should  see  prison  reform  carried  out  on  practical 
lines.  They  would  then  go  on  to  Chicago.  Milwaukee, 
Cincinnati,  St.  Louis,  and  the  other  important  cities 
of  the  Middle  West,  where  municipal  problems  would 
be  presented  for  their  study  from  every  point  of  view. 
The  journey  would  be  interesting  and  instructive. 

Petrina  did  not  say  on  this  subject  all  that  was  in 
her  mind;  but  she  said  enough.  Vassall  had  the  tact 
to  see  that  it  must  be  a  pleasure  postponed,  and  quiet 
ly  accepted  her  decision  to  spend  the  season  in  London, 
the  summer  at  some  of  the  fashionable  baths,  and  the 
autumn  in  making  visits  at  English  country-houses. 
The  winter  would  see  them  back  in  Boston.  He  made 
4some  objection  on  the  ground  of  the  long  absence  from 
his  work,  but  Petrina's  insistence  overpowered  him. 

"You  will  have  no  need  to  think  of  that,"  she  said, 
majestically;  and  he,  in  the  weakness  and  confusion 
of  seeing  his  plans  brushed  aside,  could  protest  no 
more. 

Nevertheless,  Petrina  was  not  wholly  satisfied.     The 

123 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

knowledge  that  there  were  radical  differences  between 
them  gave  a  sense  of  incompleteness  to  their  love.  There 
were  distances  and  reserves  of  which  he  was  more  toler 
ant  than  she.  The  fact  that  they  were  not  wholly 
agreed  was  one  which  she  resented.  As  Good  Friday 
and  her  mother's  wedding  day  came  round  she  found 
herself  dwelling  much  upon  the  subject. 

"Why  could  I  not  have  been  married  to-day?"  she 
mused.  "What  is  this  power  which  prevents  me?  I 
owe  it  no  allegiance  and  I  scorn  its  creed,  and  yet  it  has 
crippled  my  freedom  to  do  the  thing  on  which  my  heart 
was  set." 

She  sat  in  the  large  window-place  of  the  library,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  Charles.  The  river  was  broad  and 
blue,  and  dancing  under  the  strong  spring  sunlight; 
far  away,  Corey  Hill  was  showing  tints  of  green.  The 
morning  paper  had  fallen  from  her  lap  to  the  floor.  A 
small  paragraph  therein  had  set  her  brooding.  It  was 
only  the  announcement  of  the  day's  services  in  Vassall's 
parish  church. 

"He  will  be  there,"  she  thought,  "when  he  might  be 
here.  It  is  for  this  that  our  marriage  has  been  post 
poned.  There  is  a  life  into  which  he  goes,  leaving  me 
outside.  What  is  it?" 

She  looked  listlessly  away  over  the  sparkling  river. 
She  heard  Mrs.  Faneuil  enter,  but  did  not  speak  nor 
turn. 

"What  is  behind  that  mask?"  the  stepmother  asked 
herself  again.     "Dick  Lechmere  would  say  that  her^ 
face  is  in  one  of  its  Egyptian  moods.     It  baffles  even 
me." 

"Would  you  mind  having  lunch  early,  mamma?" 
was  all  Petrina  said. 

"Certainly  not;  but  why?"  As  Mrs.  Faneuil  spoke 
she  sat  down  to  her  desk  and  began  to  sort  her  papers. 

124 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

"I  am  going  to  church." 

"To—?" 

"Yes.     It's  Good  Friday." 

"Oh,  is  it?  I  thought  we  had  Good  Friday  some 
weeks  ago.  No,  no ;  that  must  have  been  Ash  Wednes 
day.  I  never  can  remember  these  Episcopal  days  from 
one  another.  Of  course,  it's  Good  Friday  though,  be 
cause  you  wanted  to  be  married  to-day.  Well,  I  should 
go,  if  I  were  you.  There  won't  be  many  there,  because 
Good  Friday  is  only  coming  into  fashion  at  the  New- 
bury  Street  Church.  There  are  so  few  High  Church 
Unitarians  in  Boston!  Yes,  Petrina  dear,  if  it  is  Good 
Friday  I  should  go  to  church.  Some  one  is  sure  to  see 
you  and  give  me  the  credit  for  it.  And  just  before  your 
wedding,  too!  It  would  look  rather  feeling." 

So  Petrina  went,  not  to  Newbury  Street,  but  to  the 
old  church  where,  she  felt  sure,  Vassal  1  and  his  mother 
would  be. 

She  entered  late  and  seated  herself  in  a  corner  near 
the  door.  She  was  afraid  of  seeming  conspicuous  and 
out  of  place,  but  there  were  so  many  coming  and  going 
that  no  one  noticed  her.  Through  a  rift  in  the  congre 
gation  she  saw  Vassall  farther  up  the  church,  and  on 
the  other  side.  His  profile  was  towards  her,  and  he 
was  listening  with  attention.  Involuntarily  Petrina 
turned  from  him  to  hear  what  was  being  said. 

"  And  when  the  sixth  hour  was  come  there  was  dark 
ness  over  the  whole  land  until  the  ninth  hour.  And 
at  the  ninth  hour  Jesus  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  say 
ing,  Eloi,  Eloi,  lama  sabachthani?  which  is  to  say,  be 
ing  interpreted,  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  for 
saken  me?" 

As  the  words  rolled  down  to  her  she  was  conscious 
of  a  curious  thrill ;  it  was  not  of  sympathy ;  it  was  not 
of  repugnance ;  it  was  rather  the  shock  of  being  in  the 

125 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

presence  of  dread  ideas  to  which  she  was  an  alien.  She 
felt  as  though  suddenly  called  upon  to  breathe  the  air 
of  a  planet  in  which  she  had  no  power  to  respire. 

"In  these  words/'  the  speaker  said,  "we  approach 
the  mystery  of  all  mysteries  in  the  work  of  our  redemp 
tion.  In  following  our  Lord's  experience  we  now  come 
to  that  moment  where  human  vision  can  go  no  farther, 
and  even  the  angels  veil  their  faces  with  their  wings. 
We  have  gone  with  Him  from  Gethsemane  to  the  judg 
ment  seat,  and  from  the  judgment  seat  to  Calvary.  We 
have  seen  Him  lifted  on  the  Cross ;  we  have  heard  Him 
loose  Himself  from  all  His  earthly  ties.  Mother,  friend, 
and  follower  have  accompanied  Him  thus  far.  Now 
we  must  all  stand  back,  while  He  goes  on  alone.  His 
physical  pain  has  not  been  beyond  our  understanding. 
Much  of  His  mental  suffering,  too,  we  have  been  able 
to  comprehend.  Now  He  goes  forward  to  where  no 
effort  of  mind,  sympathy,  or  imagination  will  enable 
us  to  take  our  places  by  His  side.  He  is  in  the  region 
of  extreme  spiritual  anguish.  Where  it  is  and  what  it 
is  none  of  us  can  say.  His  soul  is  travelling  into  it, 
while  human  eyes  can  see  only  His  body  dying  on  the 
Cross.  He  is  silent.  The  world  is  dark.  Nature  her 
self,  that  great,  stony-hearted  mother,  so  pitiless  of  hu 
man  sorrow,  has  covered  her  face  before  this  awful  act : 
the  act  in  which  the  Son  of  Man — the  son  of  all  men — 
the  son  and  heir  and  type  and  representative  of  all 
this  sinful  race  —  goes  down  into  that  gulf,  that  dark, 
that  void,  where  God  is  not.  Eloi,  Eloi,  lama  sabach- 
thani?  My  God,  thou  hast  forsaken  me!  My  God, 
Thou  art  not  here!  I  am  Man!  I  am  Man!  and  yet 
I  am  out  of  Thy  presence !  Eloi !  Eloi  I  This  is  the 
last  mystery  of  pain.  This  is  the  goal  in  which  un- 
forgiven  sin  must  surely  end — to  be  out  of  Thy  pres 
ence!  to  be  where  there  is  no  God!  0  men  and  women! 

126 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

is  it  any  wonder  that  there  was  darkness  over  all  the 
land?  Is  it  any  wonder  that  Jesus  Christ  cried  out 
with  a  loud  and  lamentable  voice?  A  man's  soul  had 
tasted  that  which  no  other  man's  soul  has  ever  been 
called  upon  to  know — the  bitterness  of  being,  for  the 
briefest  instant  of  an  instant,  away  from  the  presence 
of  God." 

Petrina  listened,  fascinated  and  yet  repelled.  She 
did  not  try  to  understand ;  she  was  conscious  only  that 
she  shrank  from  this  idea  of  spiritual  suffering.  All 
that  was  pagan  in  her  protested  against  the  speaker's 
use  of  the  word  Sin.  She  looked  across  at  Vassall's 
calm,  attentive  face,  and  wondered. 

"How  can  he  believe  it?"  she  asked.  "How  can 
these  passwords  have  meaning  for  a  man  like  him? 
Does  he  follow  with  his  reason?  or  is  it  only  some  be 
witchment  of  the  will?" 

Presently  they  began  to  sing.  Petrina  found  the 
place  and  stood  up  with  the  rest. 

"Oh,  come  and  mourn  with  me  awhile, 

And  tarry  here  the  cross  beside; 
Oh,  come,  together  let  us  mourn; 
Jesus,  our  Lord,  is  crucified." 

The  air  was  low  and  plaintive.  There  was  in  it  some 
thing  like  a  spiritual  sob.  The  people  around  her  sang 
with  a  sober  earnestness  which  seemed  like  a  far-off 
echo  of  the  weeping  heard  on  Calvary.  Petrina  looked 
about  her  with  astonishment.  Near  her  was  a  banker, 
a  neighbor  of  her  own  in  Beacon  Street,  the  embodi 
ment  of  middle-aged  propriety.  What  was  in  his  air 
to-day  which  seemed  to  lift  him  above  his  spotless  white 
spring  waistcoat  and  his  neatly  folded  tie?  Petrina 
did  not  know.  Not  far  away  a  young  architect  had 

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Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

just  come  in.  She  had  once  or  twice  sat  beside  him  at 
dinner,  and  thought  him  a  pleasant  lad.  What  was 
there  about  him  now,  serious,  elevated,  indicative  of 
the  man  who  could  do  something  better  than  pass  the 
salted  almonds  or  make  jests  at  table?  Petrina  did 
not  know.  The  wailing  air  went  on,  and  she  cast  her 
eyes  again  upon  the  words: 

"0  Love  of  God!     0  sin  of  manl 

In  this  dread  act  your  strength  is  tried; 
And  victory  remains  with  love ; 
For,  Thou,  0  Love,  art  crucified." 

The  Amen  came  like  a  long-drawn  sigh.  The  mul 
titude  knelt  down  for  silent  prayer.  Petrina  could  see 
Vassall  kneeling,  his  face  grave,  his  hands  clasped, 
his  attitude  devoutly  simple.  She  had  seen  him  thus 
before,  and  the  act  had  touched  her.  That  was  when 
he  was  still  not  hers.  But  now  that  he  had  become  her 
own,  she  could  no  longer  be  so  dispassionate.  She,  too, 
knelt  down,  but  not  to  pray.  Her  cheeks  were  hot, 
and  she  wanted  to  hide  them  in  her  hands. 

"  All  this  comes  in  between  him  and  me/'  she  thought. 
"  He  shuts  me  out.  He  doesn't  even  try  to  win  me  to  it. 
He  loves  it  more  than  me." 

As  she  knelt  she  was,  for  the  first  time,  almost  con 
scious  of  her  inborn  hostility  to  this  faith  of  mysteries 
and  moral  duties — of  human  sin  and  suffering  God. 
The  atmosphere  of  silent  prayer  became  electric.  A 
woman  in  black  was  quietly  crying  beside  her;  and 
Petrina  herself  choked  back  a  sob,  as  she  rose,  drew 
down  her  veil,  and  went  away. 

But  after  the  excitement  of  the  day  she  was  more  than 
usually  brilliant  when  Vassall  came  that  night.  Her 
eyes  were  glowing  and  her  cheeks  full  of  color.  Her 

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Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

black  evening  gown,  of  some  soft  clinging  stuff,  height 
ened  the  sparkle  of  her  glance  and  the  radiancy  of  her 
complexion. 

"The  Egyptian  has  gone,"  Mrs.  Faneuil  had  said  to 
herself  at  dinner.  "It  is  the  turn  of  the  Parisian." 

Vassall  had  not  dined  with  them.  He  had  been 
working  late  at  his  office,  preparatory  to  his  long  ab 
sence.  He  had  looked  in  only  on  his  way  to  Cam 
bridge,  apologizing  for  his  morning  dress. 

Petrina  had  reacted  from  her  depression  earlier  in 
the  day.  She  received  him  with  smiles,  she  amused 
him,  she  made  much  of  him.  The  very  sense  on  her 
part  that  there  had  been  a  shadow  between  them  gave 
a  deeper  thrill  to  her  happiness  in  having  him  there  be 
side  her,  subject  to  no  spell  but  hers.  Vassall  responded 
with  that  air  of  quiet,  unexaggerated  passion  which  be 
came  him  well,  and  suggested  rich  reserves.  It  was 
one  of  those  moments,  special  even  between  those  who 
love  each  other,  when  the  tie  seems  tighter,  the  sym 
pathy  fuller,  and  the  union  of  hearts  more  complete. 
Vassall  stayed  late.  When  he  rose  to  go,  Petrina  rose 
too,  and  stood  confronting  him. 

"You  are  looking  superb  to-night,"  he  said,  with  a 
proud  smile. 

"  Am  I?"  she  laughed.     " I  feel  superb. " 

"So^you  ought.     But  why  so  specially  to-night?" 

"I  don't  know.  Reaction,  perhaps,  or  perhaps  re 
volt." 

"  Not  against  me,  I  hope. " 

"I  went  to  your  church  to-day." 

"  Really  ?    I  didn't  see  you. " 

"  I  didn't  want  you  to  see  me.  I  sat  in  a  corner,  and 
wore  a  veil." 

"I  hope  you — understood." 

"Oh,  Harry, "she  cried,  with  a  gesture  of  the  hands, 
i  129 


Let    Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"  what  do  they  mean  by  sin?    What  is  it?    Why  do  they 
talk  so  much  about  it?" 

"Sin,  dear — ?"  Vassall  began,  in  some  perplexity. 

"Yes,  sin.  What  is  it?  Who  commits  it?  Who  be 
lieves  in  it?  Do  you?" 

"But  surely,  every  one  believes  that  it  exists." 

"  No,  not  every  one,  not  every  one.  I  do  not  believe 
in  it.  I  do  not  commit  it.  That  is  where  your  religion 
to-day  seemed  to  me  so  morbid." 

"But  sin,  dearest,  is  a  great  fact." 

"You  mean  a  great  fancy.  I  can  understand  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  illegal  or  even  immoral  action 
— a  wrong  done  to  some  one  else,  or  to  the  common 
weal.  But  sin  as  a  great  spiritual  offence  against  a 
great  spiritual  Being — sin  as  a  stain  upon  one's  self — 
no,  no,  no!  There  cannot  be  an  act  capable  of  such 
a  consequence.  Tell  me  frankly.  Do  you  think  that 
I  am  denied  by  any  such  blot  as  that?" 

"But  every  one  is." 

"Don't  tell  me  about  every  one.  Tell  me  what  you 
think  of  me.  Look  at  me  and  say  whether  or  not  you 
believe — as  all  your  hymns  and  praj^ers  to-day  as 
serted — that  I  am  guilty,  that  I  do  things — " 

"But  we  are  not  required  to  accuse  each  other.  We 
are  only  bound  to  confess  our  own  sins." 

"Then  you  have  them,  too?" 

"Certainly." 

"What  are  they?" 

Vassall  looked  abashed. 

"What  are  they?"  Petrina  insisted,  with  a  slight  tap 
of  her  foot  and  an  imperious  smile. 

"Oh,  lots  of  things,"  Vassall  stammered,  smiling  too, 
but  like  a  big,  blushing  boy. 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,  but  unfortunately  — " 

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Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

"Then  tell  me  some  of  them.  Tell  me  one.  I  want 
to  see  what  you  call  a  sin." 

"But  we  can't  treat  the  matter  jokingly." 

"  I  am  not  joking.  I  want  to  know  what  you  do  which 
demands  such  feeling  as  I  heard  expressed  to-day.  You 
confess — " 

"Yes,  dear,  but  not  here,  and  not  to  you." 

"You  are  a  coward,  Harry.  If  you  believed  what 
you  say  you  do,  you  would  tell  me  some  one  thing  of 
which  you  are  thoroughly  ashamed." 

"Oh,  come,  Petrina!     That  isn't  fair." 

"If  you  believed  of  yourself  the  evil  you  confess 
you  wouldn't  be  here  to-night  making  love  to  me.  You 
would  be  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  You  would  be  in  La 
Trappe.  You  would  be  one  of  those  monks  in  Rome 
who  stand  the  dead  up  in  corridors  and  decorate  the 
ceilings  with  whitened  bones.  Yes,  I  can  admit  that 
they  may  believe  in  sin;  but  not  you  and  I,  who  take 
life  so  easily — " 

"Then  let  us  take  it  easily,  dear.  These  big  sub 
jects  are  too  grave  for  five  minutes'  talk  at  this  time 
of  night.  Kiss  me  and  let  me  go.  Some  other  time — " 

"Yes,  it  is  always  some  other  time  when  we  poor 
heathen  go  round  with  our  lamps  looking  for  an  honest 
man.  Oh,  Harry,  Harry,  Harry — !" 

But  her  breath  caught.  She  could  not  go  on.  It 
was  with  something  between  a  laugh  and  a  sob  that 
she  let  her  head  fall  upon  his  shoulder,  as  he  folded 
her  in  his  arms. 


part 


CHAPTER   I 

ON  the  day  following  the  arrival  of  Vassall  and  his 
wife  at  the  Carlton  House  Hotel,  Sir  Humphrey  de 
Bohun  came  to  call  on  them.  It  was  in  the  morning, 
and  they  begged  him  to  stay  to  luncheon. 

"It  will  be  our  only  opportunity  to  see  you,"  Petrina 
urged.  "We  are  going  to-morrow  to  Orpington  Park. 
We  are  to  help  celebrate  Hippolyta's  birthday,  which 
comes  on  Sunday." 

"By  Jove,  so  it  does!"  cried  the  father.  "I  had 
quite  forgotten  it.  Poor  little  Polly;  she  will  be 
eighteen.  I  haven't  seen  her  for  six  weeks  and  more. 
She  comes  up  to  town  now  and  then  with  my  mother. 
Then  we  all  go  and  have  lunch  together  at  the 
Prince's  Restaurant." 

"  Is  she  as  pretty  as  ever?"  Petrina  asked. 

"Not  in  her  mother's  style." 

"She's  a  de  Bohun,"  said  Vassall. 

"Rather  a  Glendower,"  Sir  Humphrey  corrected. 
"She's  not  unlike  that  portrait  of  my  mother  which 
Dante  Rossetti  painted.  You  may  remember  it  in  the 
small  drawing-room  at  Orpington  Park." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Petrina.  "  The  one  we  always  called 
the  Blessed  Damozel.  I  can  fancy  that  Hippolyta 
would  grow  to  look  like  that." 

"  She  is  deucedly  pretty ;  but  it  isn't  a  style  that  takes 
in  our  time." 

"If  I  remember  rightly  the  portrait  of  which  you 
speak,"  said  Vassall,  "it  is  a  style  which  would  take 
in  any  time." 

135 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"It's  beauty,"  Sir  Humphrey  admitted,  "but  not  of  a 
type  in  vogue.  It  isn't  sufficiently  lively,  nor  chic — " 

"Nor  canaille,"  added  Petrina. 

"Oh,  that's  going  further  than  I  meant,"  protested 
Sir  Humphrey.  "I  don't  want  Hippolyta  to  be  ca 
naille,  but  I  should  like  to  see  her  a  little  more — " 

"Like  Hetty  Vienne,"  Petrina  interrupted  again. 

"Who  on  earth  is  Hetty  Vienne?"  asked  Vassall. 

"Humphrey  knows." 

Petrina  laughed.     The  baronet  reddened. 

"Oh,  come.  That's  hardly  fair.  You  seem  to  keep 
marvellously  well  posted  over  in  America." 

"Well,  we  shall  say  no  more  about  it,  at  any  rate," 
said  Petrina,  pleasantly.  "It's  not  a  nice  subject — " 

"Then  why  do  you  bring  it  up?"  said  Vassall. 

"To  see  you  and  Humphrey  turn  red." 

"I?     My  dear  Petrina—" 

"  Yes,  you,  Harry  dear.  You  color  at  the  name  of 
Hetty  Vienne  as  if  you  really  knew — '' 

"As  much  as  you." 

"As  much  as  I — which  you  don't.  Does  he,  Hum 
phrey?" 

"  Upon  my  word — " 

"  There,  there,  Humphrey ;  we'll  drop  it.  You  men 
always  want  to  talk  about  improper  things." 

"I  think  I'll  just  slip  out  and  buy  something  for 
Hippolyta,"  said  Sir  Humphrey,  eager  to  change  the 
subject.  "I  can  be  back  in  time  for  lunch  if  you  give 
me  a  few  minutes'  grace." 

"Don't  you  think,"  Vassall  asked,  "that  I  had  better 
go  with  him,  and  get  something  for  us  to  give  her?" 

"Go  to  Duvelleroy's,  in  Regent  Street,"  said  Petrina, 
"and  ask  for  the  white  lace  fan  which  Mrs.  Vassall 
ordered  to  be  put  aside  for  her.  You  will  then  have 
the  privilege  of  paying  ten  guineas  for  it,  and  bring- 

136 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

ing  it  home.     Hippolyta  will  use  it  after  she  is  pre 
sented." 

The  two  men  set  out  upon  their  errand. 

"Shall  we  take  a  hansom?"  Sir  Humphrey  asked,  as 
they  left  the  hotel. 

"No;  let's  walk/'  Vassall  replied. 

For  a  few  minutes  they  went  on  together  in  silence. 

As  they  turned  into  Waterloo  Place  Vassall  glanced 
at  his  brother-in-law,  who  was  evidently  somewhat 
flustered. 

"  His  face  is  a  little  coarser  than  it  used  to  be,"  Vassall 
thought.  "  And  being  stouter  makes  him  look  shorter. " 

Sir  Humphrey  was,  however,  not  precisely  short; 
he  was  only  thick-set  and  stocky — the  type  of  well- 
nourished,  full  -  blooded  Englishmen,  for  whom  sport, 
fresh  air,  and  Carlsbad  are  the  necessary  antidotes  to 
ease,  prosperity,  and  good  living.  His  ancestors  had 
been  knights  under  the  Normans;  crusaders  under 
the  Plantagenets ;  statesmen  under  the  Tudors;  cav 
aliers  under  the  Stuarts;  and  respectable,  well-to-do 
members  of  Parliament  under  the  House  of  Hanover. 
Their  names  and  their  merits  were  so  many  that  their 
modern  representative  had  ceased  to  take  account  of 
them.  Dick  Lechmere  had  said  of  Sir  Humphrey  that 
he  had  so  much  family  pride  that  he  could  afford  to  cast 
it  to  the  winds.  That  gave  him  the  air  of  having  none. 
He  was  affable,  with  the  good-nature  of  one  whose  wants 
are  material  and  well  supplied.  He  was  obliging,  with 
the  easy  generosity  of  him  who  has  no  motive  for  hus 
banding  his  resources  or  his  time.  He  was  liked,  with 
the  negative  popularity  of  the  man  who  has  no  con 
versation,  but  is  always  ready  to  listen  and  to  laugh. 
With  nothing  to  seek  and  much  to  bestow,  he  passed 
among  men  for  one  who  was  fulfilling  fairly  well  the 
purposes  of  an  inscrutable  Creator. 

137 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"Would  it  be  a  liberty/'  said  Vassall,  as  they  went 
on,  "to  ask  who  is  Hetty  Vienne?" 

De  Bohun  said  nothing,  but  flashed  on  his  brother- 
in-law  one  of  his  famous  smiles. 

"Humphrey's  smile  would  conquer  an  army  with 
banners,"  Petrina  had  often  said. 

"It  is  more  eloquent  than  the  gift  of  tongues,"  Mrs. 
Tyrell  had  remarked  last  year  to  Gentian. 

"It  is  the  expression  of  a  noble  nature,"  that  young 
lady  had  replied. 

"It  is  De  Bohun's  whole  stock-in-trade,"  Lech- 
mere  used  to  say.  "With  him  it  takes  the  place 
of  tact  and  talent  and  the  whole  compass  of  savoir 
faire." 

"It  makes  me  young  again,"  Mrs.  Faneuil  laughed, 
when  people  spoke  of  it.  "Sir  Humphrey  has  but  to 
smile  on  me,  and  I  am  his.  If  he  only  wanted  to  he 
could  charm  me  as  a  serpent  does  a  bird." 

"Oh,  yes!  Humphrey's  smile!"  Lady  de  Bohun  had 
cried  impatiently  to  Major  Bertie,  the  other  day.  " '  He 
smiles  valiantly,'  as  somebody  says  in  Shakespeare. 
But  if  you  only  knew  that  smile  as  well  as  I  do!  To 
live  with  it  is  like  living  in  perpetual  sunshine,  with 
no  winter  and  no  night.  It  is  like  drinking  nothing 
but  eau  sucree.  It  is  like  being  driven  mad  by  tickling. 
It  is  like  being  smothered  to  death  by  the  scent  of  vio 
lets.  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me  about  Humphrey's"  smile! 
I've  sat  in  it  till  it  scorched  me,  till  my  eyes  ached,  till 
its  very  blandness  became  a  torture." 

But  Sir  Humphrey  was  the  least  self-conscious  of 
men.  His  smile  was  only  the  muscular  curving  of  a 
short  upper  lip,  over  handsome  teeth,  and  under  a  care 
fully  curled  mustache.  That  it  rippled  away  into  little 
dimples,  which  many  a  girl  had  envied,  and  then  broke 
out  like  light  in  his  eyes,  was  nothing  but  accident. 

138 


Let   Not   Man    Put    Asunder 

It  was  to  the  real  Sir  Humphrey  only  what  the  mask 
is  to  the  actor. 

"De  Bohun  smiles  because  he  has  nothing  to  say," 
Major  Bertie  had  replied  to  Lady  de  Bohun. 

And  it  was  because  he  had  nothing  to  say  that  Sir 
Humphrey  now  smiled  on  Vassall;  while  Vassall  saw 
only  that  boyish  embarrassment  and  that  sympathetic 
confession  of  weakness  which  are  sure  of  forgiveness 
beforehand. 

They  had  reached  Piccadilly  Circus,  and  in  order  to 
cross  the  stream  of  traffic  were  obliged  to  take  separate 
ways. 

"After  all,  he  is  a  good  sort,"  Vassall  thought,  as  he 
threaded  his  way  among  the  vehicles.  "Even  in  his 
escapades  one  can't  help  liking  him." 

"I  think,"  said  Sir  Humphrey,  as  they  came  together 
again  and  began  to  go  up  Regent  Street — "  I  think,  old 
chap,  that  as  Petrina  is  evidently  on  Emmy's  side,  you 
ought  to  be  on  mine." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Humphrey.  Petrina 
doesn't  take  her  side  any  more  than  yours." 

"  Yes,  she  does.  Emmy  keeps  her  posted  in  all  that's 
going  on." 

"  Possibly ;  but  if  Emmy  had  nothing  to  tell,  Petrina 
would  have  nothing  to  learn." 

"That's  gently  put,  and  I  accept  the  hinted  repri 
mand.  If  you  spoke  as  severely  as  you  feel,  no  doubt 
your  language  would  be  stronger." 

"I'm  not  sure  about  that.  I'm  not  conscious  of  feel 
ing  severely  towards  any  one.  Naturally  I  am  a  good 
deal  disappointed  that  you  and  Emmy  couldn't  con 
tinue  to  hit  it  off  together  after  nearly  twenty  years  of 
married  life." 

"  Bless  your  soul,  Harry,  I  could  go  on  hitting  it  off, 
as  you  call  it,  from  now  till  doomsday.  I  could  keep 

139 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

a  golden  wedding,  if  Emmy  would.  I  was  perfectly 
contented/' 

"Yes;  but  did  you  make  her  contented?" 

"No,  I  didn't,  and  I  couldn't,  for  I  never  knew  what 
she  wanted,  and  I  don't  know  it  now." 

"But  I  suppose  Emmy  has  some  ground  of  com 
plaint  against  you?" 

"A  hundred!  A  thousand!  There  are  new  ones 
every  day.  The  chief  one  is  that  I  bore  her." 

"But  this  young  lady?    This  Hetty—?" 

"Oh,  that's  Emmy's  game;  but  I  don't  know  how 
she's  going  to  play  it.  I  wish  you'd  rind  out  for  me." 

"I  don't  understand." 

"  I  mean  that  Hetty  Vienne  is  only  Emmy's  excuse. 
She's  had  the  same  occasion  for  ten  years  and  more. 
She  was  perfectly  aware  of  it,  and  she  didn't  care. 
Just  now  it  suits  her  purpose  to  take  notice,  and  she 
does.  Why  now  more  than  at  any  other  time,  I  don't 
know.  Why  it  should  be  Hetty  Vienne  more  than 
Lucy  Fitzalan  or  Maria — " 

"Don't  you  think  that  you  do  Emmy  injustice  in 
supposing  that  she  knew  all  that?" 

"Not  a  bit,  dear  boy.  She  knew,  and  she  didn't 
care.  She  doesn't  care  now.  But  what  I  want  to  make 
out  is,  what's  her  game?  What's  it  all  to  lead  up  to?" 

"And  you  want  me  to — ?" 

"To  mediate  between  us.  Tell  her  I'm  ready  to  do 
anything  she  likes." 

"If  she  wants  to  be  reconciled?" 

"  Then  I  shall  be  only  too  delighted.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  wants  a  divorce,  she  shall  have  it,  and  have 
it  handsome.  But  I  want  to  have  the  matter  settled. 
I  want  to  be  free  or  bound — one  or  the  other." 

"  And  which  would  you  prefer?" 

"I  have  no  preference.  She  shall  have  what  she 

140 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

chooses.  I  can  live  with  Emmy  as  long  as  she  can 
live  with  me.  On  the  other  hand,  I  can  live  without 
her. " 

"And  the  children?" 

"I  miss  them  sometimes,  poor  little  souls!  I  was 
always  fond  of  them.  I  am  ready  to  take  them,  or  di 
vide  them,  or  to  let  her  have  them  all.  Emmy  shall 
decide  that,  too." 

"But  haven't  you  any  sense  of  responsibility,  man? 
or  of  duty?  or  of  conscience?  or  of  mere  animal  affec 
tion?" 

Sir  Humphrey  found  these  questions  embarrassing, 
and  so  took  refuge  in  silence  and  a  smile. 

"Here  we  are  at  Duvelleroy's,"  he  said,  a  minute 
later.  "Let's  go  in." 


CHAPTER  II 

"ARE  you  worried,  Harry?"  Petrina  asked  in  the 
evening  of  that  day. 

"Rather/'  he  replied,  absently. 

"What  about?" 

"Only  about  Emmy  and  de  Bohun." 

"But  they  seem  fairly  content  with  the  situation." 

"Humphrey  isn't." 

"Emmy  is.     What  does  Humphrey  want?" 

"He  wants  something  better  or  something  worse. 
And  the  tragedy  of  it  is  that  he  is  indifferent  as  to  which 
of  the  two  he  gets." 

"You  mean  that  he  would  like — ?" 

"Either  a  reconciliation  or  a  divorce." 

" I  should  think  that  the  divorce  would  be  the  better." 

"Oh,  Petrina!" 

The  matter-of-fact  tone  in  which  she  spoke  gave  him 
another  stab. 

"  How  narrow  you  are!"  she  laughed. 

They  were  at  dinner  in  the  restaurant  of  the  Carlton 
House  Hotel.  Vassall  had  wanted  to  dine  quietly  in 
their  own  apartment;  but  Petrina  preferred  to  come" 
down  and  see  the  people.  It  was  also  part  of  her  inten 
tion  to  be  seen ;  so  she  dressed  herself  in  a  way  to  insure 
respectful  attention — in  spangled  black,  with  a  simple 
but  very  costly  necklace. 

"How  pretty  this  is!"  she  said,  when  Vassall  had 
ordered  the  dinner.  "These  tints  of  cream  and  gold 
and  rose  would  make  the  most  of  any  one's  complexion ; 

142 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

and  only  the  insolence  of  great  beauty  could  be  other 
than  glad  of  this  delicately  shaded  light.  Yes,  Pommery 
sec  for  me." 

"But  don't  you  find  dining  in  such  a  crowd  rather 
mixed  and  public?" 

"  That's  only  your  Old  Cambridge  instinct  for  burial 
alive.  You  mustn't  be  so  frigidly  unobtrusive." 

"I  don't  like  to  see  so  many  people." 

"But  they  are  amusing  and  picturesque." 

"Aren't  we  sufficient  to  ourselves?" 

"  Good  gracious,  no !  If  we  had  been  we  should  have 
stayed  at  home.  No  two  persons  are  sufficient  to  them 
selves — not  any  more  than  two  musical  notes  are  suf 
ficient  to  make  a  melody.  Don't  be  so  wrapped  up  in 
yourself,  Harry  dear.  A  great  restaurant  of  this  sort 
is  like  a  social  kaleidoscope.  You  see  the  most  wonder 
ful  combinations —  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Lady  York 
shire?  and  Lord  Yorkshire?  and  Mr.  Amos?  How  de 
lightful  this  is!  Let  me  introduce  my  husband — Mr. 
Vassall." 

Vassall  had  risen.     Petrina  remained  seated. 

"I  know  your  sister,  Lady  de  Bohun,  very  well," 
said  the  tall,  graceful,  languid  young  woman  who 
had  stopped  to  greet  Petrina.  "  She  isn't  in  town  this 
year,  I  think." 

"She  hasn't  a  house/'  Vassall  explained.  "She 
goes  to  Claridge's." 

"  I  haven't  seen  her  about.  Do  bring  Mrs.  Vassall 
to  tea  in  Bruton  Street  some  Thursday.  So  glad  to 
see  you  in  England  again." 

So  with  a  nod  Lady  Yorkshire,  with  her  two  men, 
passed  on. 

"That's  what  Emmy  calls  'The  Triangle,'"  Petrina 
said,  when  they  were  out  of  ear-shot.  "  The  three  are 
never  apart.  Amos  is  an  American — an  American 

143 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Jew,  really  —  and  ridiculously  rich.  Naturally,  he  is 
le  plus  heureux  des  trois.  The  Yorkshires  always  oc 
cupy  his  hotel  in  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
I  think  it's  a  little  too  affiche  for  good  taste." 

"What  do  vou  mean  by  'The  Triangle'? —  Oh,  I 
see." 

"  You  goose!     You're  positively  coloring." 

"  There's  some  one  nodding  to  you  at  that  table  by 
the  pillar;  a  plain  woman,  with  red  hair." 

"Oh,  that's  Jeanne  Vignon,  of  the  Comedie,"  Petrina 
explained,  as  she  nodded  and  smiled  in  return.  "  I 
didn't  know  she  was  in  England.  She's  so  immensely 
clever  that  one  forgets  her  looks.  We  met  her  last  year 
in  Cairo." 

A  party  of  six  had  come  in  and  were  seating  them 
selves  at  the  next  table.  A  pretty  little  woman  in  pink 
and  white  and  diamonds  was  appointing  the  guests  to 
their  places. 

"Comtesse,  will  you  sit  there  on  the  Prince's  right? 
and  you  there,  Lady  Jane?  Mr.  Green,  will  you  sit 
next  the  Comtesse?  and  you,  Monsieur  de  Prie — " 

Petrina  turned  at  the  sound  of  the  voice. 

"  Why,  do  tell!"  cried  the  little  lady,  leaving  her  table 
and  coming  forward  with  both  hands  outstretched. 

"And  I  want  to  know!"  Petrina  responded,  rising 
and  laughing. 

"  Where  have  you  come  from,  and  what  are  you  doing 
here,  dining  all  alone  with  a  man?" 

"I'm  married  to  him,"  Petrina  explained.  "Harry, 
let  me  present  you  to  Princess  Hans  of  Markenstein." 

"Oh,  yes — Mr.  Vassall — Lady  de  Bohun's  brother," 
said  the  Princess,  offering  her  hand.  "  You  see  I  know 
all  about  him.  Hans,"  she  added,  as  the  Prince  came 
forward,  "this  is  my  old  friend,  Petrina  Faneuil,  now 
Mrs.  Vassall;  and  this  is  Mr.  Vassall," 

144 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

The  Prince,  who  was  tall  and  soldierly,  bowed  with 
stiff  cordiality,  while  Petrina  and  the  Princess  chattered 
with  clipped  sentences  and  hurried  questions  and  replies. 

"She  was  Sophy  Gregorson,  of  Portland,"  Petrina 
said  in  a  low  voice  to  Vassall,  when  the  parties  had 
separated  and  settled  down.  "When  I  was  at  school 
with  her  we  used  to  amuse  ourselves  with  the  quaint 
New  England  country  phrases.  Every  time  I  see  her 
she  has  still  one  to  throw  at  me.  She  married  this 
Prince  Hans,  not  realizing  that  she  wasn't  stand- 
gemdssig  among  the  mediatized  houses.  When  she 
went  to  Germany,  of  course,  she  was  only  a  morga 
natic  wife.  But  Sophy's  spirit  couldn't  bend  to  that. 
Consequently  she  makes  her  husband  live  in  Eng 
land,  where  morganatic  marriages  don't  exist  and 
her  rank  is  recognized.  She  had  a  terrible  battle  to 
fight  in  Germany.  The  Emperor  wanted  to  make  her 
some  sort  of  countess,  but  she  wouldn't  accept  any 
thing  short  of  her  husband's  name." 

"And  quite  rightly,  too,"  Vassall  began;  but  before 
he  could  continue  he  saw  another  acquaintance  coming. 
"Who  is  this  stout  lady  in  red,  with  the  wonderful  ex 
tent  of  bare  shoulders?" 

"It's  the  Duchess  of  Ambleside,"  Petrina  managed 
to  say,  hurriedly,  "  and  don't  forget  that  you  know  her." 

"I  saw  you,  dear,  from  the  other  side  of  the  room," 
said  the  Duchess,  in  a  gurgling  voice,  as  both  the  Vas- 
salls  rose.  "I  couldn't  resist  the  desire  to  come  and 
shake  hands  with  you.  I  hear  you're  married.  So 
nicel  I  remember  meeting  you,  Mr.  Vassal!,  at  dear 
Lady  de  Bohun's." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Duchess,  I  am  sure,"  said  Vas 
sall. 

"Oh,  I  never  forget  so  interesting  a  face  as  yours. 
Where  are  you  staying,  Miss  Faneuil?" 

145 


Let   Not    Man  Put   Asunder 

"Here,  at  this  hotel." 

"  Charming,  they  say,  but  so  expensive.  Come 
down,"  she  added,  turning  to  Vassall — "  come  down  and 
spend  Sunday  with  us  at  Groombridge.  Oh,  yes,  fetch 
her,  too,"  she  went  on,  seeing  that  Vassall  looked  hesi 
tatingly  at  Petrina.  "I'll  ask  Sir  George  Wallingford 
to  meet  her.  I  should  love  to  have  you.  I  think  your 
face  is  so  interesting." 

"We  should  be  delighted  to  go,"  Petrina  broke  in 
with  a  laugh,  "only  that  we  are  due  for  Sunday  at 
Orpington  Park." 

"Then  come  to  Mrs.  Poynter's  party  on  Wednesday," 
the  Duchess  gurgled  on.  "I'll  send  you  a  card.  Dear 
little  woman.  Husband  has  mines  or  something  in 
South  Africa.  They've  taken  our  house  in  Bucking 
ham  Gate,  and  I  give  the  parties.  I'm  giving  a  din 
ner  for  her  here  to-night — or  else  she's  giving  it  for 
me.  Whichever  it  is,  she  pays.  That  table  over  there 
with  all  the  orchids.  That's  her — the  pretty  woman 
in  pink,  who  looks  as  if  she  painted.  Do  come  to  her 
party,  Miss  Faneuil.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

"We  should  be  glad  to  go  if  we  are  in  town." 

"  That's  right.  I  must  go  now.  Don't  trouble  your 
self,  Mr.  Vassall.  So  glad  to  have  met  you  again. 
You've  such  an  interesting  face." 

"Isn't  she  an  old  dear?"  said  Petrina,  as  the  Duchess 
moved  away. 

"Isn't  she  an  old  humbug?"  Vassall  responded. 
"But,  good  Heavens!  she's  coming  back  again." 

This  was  true.     The  Duchess  had  returned. 

"Don't  get  up,"  she  gurgled  again.  "I've  only 
come  back  to  say  that  over  at  our  table  we've  got  Mrs. 
Tredelly  the  actress  and  Hartley  Payne  the  painter. 
He  ought  to  be  Mr.  Tredelly,  you  know,  only  unfortu 
nately  there's  one  already.  Shameful,  isn't  it?  And 

146 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

yet  it's  so  instructive  to  watch  people  in  equivocal  sit 
uations.  That's  why  I  made  Mrs.  Poynter  ask  them. 
Just  turn  a  little,  Miss  Faneuil,  and  you'll  see  her — in 
black,  with  the  red  flowers.  That's  him  with  the  lovely 
hair — just  like  a  nice  French  coiffeur.  Well,  good-bye 
again.  Don't  forget  Wednesday  at  Buckingham  Gate. 
So  glad  you're  married.  I  shouldn't  have  forgotten 
your  face,  Mr.  Vassall,  if  we  hadn't  met  for  ten  years; 
it's  so  interesting." 

Her  Grace  was  gone  again. 

"She's  so  original!"  said  Petrina. 

"Yes;  if  it's  original  to  be  outrageous.     Why  did 
she  keep  saying  that  I  had  such  an  interesting  face?" 

"  That  only  means  that  she  is  willing  to  take  you  up." 

"Take  me— what?" 

"  Up ;  show  you  attentions ;  have  you  go  about  with 
her." 

"About?    Where?" 

"In   the  park;  to   parties;  to   the   opera;  wherever 
people  are  seen." 

"And  you?" 

"Oh,  I  should  have  Sir  George  Wallingford.     She 
has  arranged  for  that." 

"Well!  upon  my— !" 

"I  wish  she  would.     She  would  modernize  you." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  need  that?" 

"  Yes,  I  do.     You're  as  out-of-date  as  a  Pilgrim  Fa 
ther." 

"Then  I'm  in  good  company." 

"  It  is  never  good  company  to  be  where  you  don't  be- 
long." 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  belong  to — to  all  this?" 

"Naturally.     I  do." 

"We  belong  to  this  company  of  people  who  parade 
their  infamy?" 

147 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"That's  rather  strong,  Harry." 
"  I  refer  only  to  what  you  have  just  said." 
"I  didn't  really  say.     I  only  allowed  you  to  infer 
what  I  meant.     You  might  have  seen  that  in  the  form 
I  gave  my  sentences." 

"I'm  not  accustomed  to  observe  so  closely." 
"That's  where  you're  not  modern.     Nowadays  good 
talk  is  never  periodic.     The  periodic  is  positive,  and 
the  positive  is  often  slanderous.     We  talk  in  broken 
sentences.     We  use  the  noun  but  not  the  verb,  or  we 
use  the  verb  and  allow  some  one  else  mentally  to  sup 
ply  the  nominative.     It  is  safe,  skilful,  and  well-bred." 
"Like  the  minister's  wife,  who  had  so  much  gram 
mar  that  she  could  tell  a  lie  without  sin." 

"It's  part  of  good  conversation,  too,  to  interrupt 
when  you  have  understood  enough.  Don't  oblige  the 
person  with  whom  you  are  talking  to  go  further  than 
he  ought.  If  there  is  a  missing  word  in  the  sentence, 
it  will  always  become  the  most  emphatic,  and  will 
never  be  difficult  to  find.  Where  there  is  discretion, 
there  need  never  be  any  open  utterance  of  scandal." 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  as  you  are  doing  now, 
dear." 

"I  only  speak  my  mind." 

"Then  we  must  differ  greatly  from  each  other." 
"But  we  shouldn't  if  you  would  agree  with  me." 
"I  can't,  as  long  as  you  include  yourself  among 
such  people  as  the  Yorkshires,  with  their  effrontery, 
and  the  Duchess  of  Ambleside,  with  her  public  recog 
nition  of  an  immoral — " 

"Oh,  recognition  is  scarcely  the  word." 
"But  she  knows  of  it;  she  speaks  of  it." 
"  There  are  many  things  that  we  know  well  enough 
to  assert,  but  not  well  enough  to  act  upon.     Besides, 
she  finds  it  instructive  to  study  people  in  equivocal 

148 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

situations.  That  is  probably  for  the  purpose  of  com 
paring  notes.  If  fame  does  not  belie  her,  she  has  seen 
such  situations  from  a  nearer  point  of — " 

"What  a  lot  of  such  things  you  know,  Petrina!" 
Vassall  exclaimed. 

"And  don't  you?"  she  asked. 

"Possibly;  but  I  am  a  man." 

"And  does  that  fact  give  you  a  monopoly  of  knowl 
edge?" 

"A  man  cannot  but  know  things  of  which  his  wife 
had  better  be  ignorant.  I  am  old-fashioned  enough  to 
believe  that." 

"So  I  should  suppose;  but  I  am  not." 

Petrina  laughed  lightly,  and  slowly  waved  her  large, 
black,  spangled  fan.  A  note  had  been  struck  in  the 
conversation  which  exhilarated  her.  There  was  in  her 
a  strain  of  daring  that  delighted  to  skate  out  on  the 
thin  ice  of  discussion.  The  danger  sign-post  only 
lured  her  on.  She  was  proud,  too,  of  being  able  to 
look  at  the  uglier  side  of  life  with  toleration.  She  nat 
tered  herself  on  having  no  Hebraic  horror  at  the  sight 
of  what  commonplace  people  call  Wrong.  Life  to  her 
was  a  spectacle  in  which  one  could  always  detect  the 
vice  of  the  virtuous  and  the  virtue  of  the  vicious.  That 
she  found  amusing.  She  would  have  shrunk  from  the 
squalor  of  the  drunkard  in  the  slums ;  but  here  in  this 
great  room,  with  its  toned  light,  its  shades  of  cream 
and  rose  and  gold,  its  flash  of  jewels,  its  scent  of  flow 
ers,  its  fumes  of  wine,  its  subdued  laughter,  its  hum 
of  talk,  its  distant  music,  its  perfect  correctness  of  all 
outward  seeming — here  vice  was  a  stimulating  con 
trast;  it  excited  the  mind;  it  stirred  the  curiosity;  it 
took  away  from  a  well-bred  life  something  of  its  ex 
quisite  tameness. 

As  Petrina  looked  about  her,  it  was  as  if  she  was 

149 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

gazing  down  long  aisles  of  life  which  radiated  from  her 
self  as  a  centre.  She  liked  to  watch  the  languid  young 
Countess  of  Yorkshire,  greeted  by  half  the  people  who 
entered,  and  wonder  whether  or  not  she  had  any 
sense  of  shame.  She  liked  to  look  over  at  Hartley 
Payne,  who  had  a  wife  and  children  in  North  London, 
and  guess  whether  or  not  he  had  any  feeling  of  re 
morse.  She  liked  to  contemplate  the  bravado  of  Sophy 
Gregorson  and  the  dash  with  which  she  bore  herself  as 
a  Grand  Ducal  Highness — and  yet  to  penetrate  to  the 
sense  of  outrage  and  humiliation  which  Petrina  knew 
to  lie  within. 

"The  heart  that  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,"  she 
mused,  "doth  well  in  carrying  it  to  London.  Here 
alone  can  it  be  at  once  both  private  and  public,  ex 
posed  to  open  view  and  yet  borne  with  nonchalance." 

Vassall,  on  the  other  hand,  grew  moody.  He  was 
conscious  of  something  odious  in  the  very  atmosphere. 
This  public  exhibition  of  luxury  and  appetite  was  re 
pugnant  to  his  New  England  instinct  for  seclusion. 
That  people  who  had  homes  of  their  own  should  choose 
to  come  with  their  guests  and  herd  with  the  multitude 
seemed  to  him  a  refined  vulgarity.  That  they  should 
make  such  display  of  their  purses  and  persons  shocked 
that  Puritan  spirit — a  mixture  of  pride  and  shyness,  of 
humility  and  disdain — which  was  to  him  like  the  breath 
on  his  lips.  The  very  lights  and  flowers  and  music  he 
found  distasteful;  their  beauty  seemed  meretricious, 
like  that  of  the  gems  on  many  of  the  bosoms,  and  the 
color  on  many  of  the  cheeks,  around  him. 

But  more  displeasing  than  any  lavishness  of  out 
ward  show  was  the  moral  negation  he  divined  every 
where — the  setting  at  naught  of  those  principles  and 
duties  which,  to  his  thinking,  alone  gave  one  a  respect 
for  life.  That  women  like  Mrs.  Tredelly  and  the  Coun- 

150 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

less  of  Yorkshire  should  be  sitting  there,  feasted  and 
flattered  and  looked  at  with  envious  eyes — that  they 
should  not  be  pilloried  on  a  platform  with  the  Scarlet 
Letter  A  flaming  on  their  breasts,  was,  he  felt,  a  scandal. 
It  was  characteristic  of  him  that,  while  for  such  men 
as  Payne  and  Amos  and  Lord  Yorkshire  he  had  only  a 
lenient  scorn,  for  the  women  he  had  nothing  but  the 
whip-cord  of  severity.  There  were  weak  men  and  there 
were  vile  men;  one  knew  it,  and  yet  one  was  obliged 
to  give  them  some  sort  of  foothold  in  human  society; 
but  for  the  weak  woman  or  the  vile  woman  there  could 
be  nothing  but  the  ducking-stool  or  Saint  -  Lazare. 
Vassall  had  neither  sympathy  for  Hester  Prynne  nor 
pity  for  Manon  Lescaut.  He  was  not  without  sin ;  and 
yet  he  would  have  remained  behind  when  the  Scribes  and 
Pharisees  went  out  one  by  one,  in  the  eighth  chapter  of 
St.  John.  He  would  have  spared,  with  contemptuous 
mercy,  Payne  and  Amos  and  Zimri  the  son  of  Salu; 
while  he  would  have  thrust  through  with  a  javelin  Mrs. 
Tredelly  and  Lady  Yorkshire  and  Cozbi  the  daughter 
of  Zur. 

So,  writh  a  sense  of  disapproval,  he  ate  his  dinner  and 
sipped  his  wine.  With  a  party  of  other  men  he  could 
have  enjoyed  the  spectacle  for  once,  as  an  instance  of 
modern  luxury  and  fashion.  But  with  Petrina  there 
he  was  ill  at  ease.  It  pained  him  to  see  her  so  much 
at  home  among  these  people.  It  jarred  upon  him  to 
hear  her  speak  with  so  much  knowledge  of  their  charac 
ters  and  affairs. 

"Are  you  worried,  Harry?"  she  asked,  when  he  had 
been  some  time  silent. 

It  was  then  that  they  spoke  of  Sir  Humphrey  and 
Lady  de  Bohun;  and  again  a  discordant  note  came 
into  the  talk. 

"How  narrow  you  are!"  Petrina  laughed  lightly  as 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

she  tasted  her  ice.  "  I  dislike  divorces  as  much  as  you 
do/'  she  went  on,  "but  I  am  obliged  to  think  that  a 
time  may  come  when  husband  and  wife  ought  to  set 
each  other  free." 

Vassall  would  not  discuss  the  topic,  and  so  the  con 
versation  flagged  again. 

"Suppose  we  have  our  coffee  in  the  hall?"  he  sug 
gested. 

"Yes;  this  room  is  rather  hot." 

In  going  out  Vassall  remarked  with  pride  the  glances 
of  admiration  which  followed  Petrina  as  she  passed. 
No  Englishwoman  in  the  room  had  more  dignity,  no 
Frenchwoman  more  grace,  no  American  more  charm. 
She  nodded  again  to  Lady  Yorkshire,  to  Princess  Hans, 
and  to  Jeanne  Vignon.  The  men  half  rose  and  bowed 
as  she  went  on. 

"Don't  forget  Wednesday,"  said  the  Duchess  as  they 
passed  her  table,  " even  if  I  don't  send  you  a  card." 

They  were  among  the  first  to  come  out  into  the  great, 
cool  palm-court,  which  serves,  at  the  Carlton  House 
Hotel,  for  drawing-room,  smoking-room,  entrance- 
hall,  and  lounge.  One  of  the  few  tables  on  the  little 
terrace  was  still  free,  and  they  took  it.  Even  Vassall 
found  it  amusing  to  watch  the  people  come  and  go — 
some  leaving  early  for  the  last  acts  at  the  opera — others 
settling  themselves  in  groups  around  the  little  tables 
under  the  palms  and  fern-trees.  Petrina  was  in  the  best 
of  spirits.  She  enjoyed  the  color  and  light  and  move 
ment —  the  ever  -  shifting  contrasts  of  what  she  called 
the  living  kaleidoscope.  She  was  in  one  of  those  radiant 
moods  before  which  her  husband's  moroseness  never 
failed  to  melt.  He  grew  gay  again.  As  he  smoked 
and  sipped  his  chartreuse  he  laughed  with  her  at  the 
human  oddities  around  them,  and  echoed  her  admiration 
of  the  pretty  robes.  They  guessed  at  nationalities; 

152 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

and  among  their  own  compatriots  distinguished  be 
tween  those  who  must  have  come  from  Indiana  or  Illi 
nois  and  those  who  were  evidently  of  New  York.  They 
agreed  that  there  were  no  Bostonians  but  themselves. 

"  Look,  look ! ' '  Petrina  cried,  suddenly.  "  Who  is  that 
girl  in  white?" 

"Where?" 

"Not  there;  over  by  that  fern-tree;  she's  standing 
with  two  men,  and  a  lady  in  dark  green.  Now  they're 
sitting  down.  Don't  you  see?" 

"No;  I  don't." 

"  How  stupid !  She's  the  most  wonderfully  beautiful 
creature!  It's  the  table  next  the  Yorkshires." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see  her  now.  Looks  like  some  nice  Eng 
lish  clergyman's  daughter." 

"  A  little — you  mean  her  air  of  modesty — " 

"And  goodness." 

"Yes,  and  something  demure  and  serene  and  dis 
tinguished — " 

"You  can  fancy  her  cutting  flowers  in  the  vicar 
age  garden  to  decorate  the  chancel  of  the  church.  It's 
a  sort  of  Royal  Academy  vicar's  daughter,  though. 
That  perfect  oval  of  her  face — " 

"  And  large  blue  eyes —  Oh.,  Harry,  do  look  at  her ! 
She's  really  too  maidenly.  And  what  a  hand!  Notice 
how  she  holds  her  cup!" 

"I'm  trying  to  do  justice  to  her  lovely  light  hair." 

"How  prettily  it  grows!"  said  Petrina,  enthusiasti 
cally.  "  I  wish  mine  would. " 

"And  yet  I  seem  to  know  her  face,  "said  Vassall,  ab 
sently,  searching  in  his  memory. 

"  And  I,  too.  I've  seen  her  in  some  photograph,  I  am 
sure.  I  have  in  mind  the  form  without  the  coloring. 
I  never  could  have  forgotten  those  eyes  or  that  com 
plexion,  if  I  had  once  seen  them — or  those  pearls.  Just 

153 


Let   Not   Man   Put    Asunder 

look  at  the  pearls,  Harry!  One,  two,  three,  four — four 
rows,  and  such  marvels !  Oh,  no ;  she  can't  be  a  clergy 
man's  daughter.  She  must  be  at  least — " 

"By  George!"  Vassall  exclaimed,  bringing  his  hand 
heavily  down  on  the  table.  "  I  know  her.  It's  Felicia 
de  Prony,  Lechmere's  wife." 

"  Oh ! "    Petrina  breathed  softly. 

"I  knew  I  had  seen  her  somewhere,"  Vassall  went  on. 
"But  it's  always  been  on  the  stage.  I  didn't  recognize 
her  like  this." 

"I've  always  missed  her,  wherever  I've  been,"  said 
Petrina,  gazing  intently  at  the  prima  donna.  "You 
must  certainly  take  me  to  hear  her." 

"If  you  like.     But,  good  heavens,  what  a  contrast!" 

"Between—?" 

"Between  what  she  looks  like  and  what  she  is." 

"That  is—  ?" 

"That  she  looks  like  a  saint  and  is,  in  reality,  the 
worst  of  women." 

"I  should  like  to  know  her." 

"My  dear  Petrina—!" 

"I  should.     I  shall." 

"No,  dearest,"  Vassall  began.  "I  couldn't  allow 
you." 

"You  couldn't  what?"  Petrina  asked,  with  a  sudden 
turn  of  her  glance  upon  him,  and  a  swift  but  perceptible 
change  of  humor. 

"I  couldn't  allow  you  to  meet  such  a  woman." 

"When  I  ask  for  permission,  Harry  dear,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile — but  a  smile  in  which  there  was  a  certain 
nervous  irritation — "  it  will  be  time  enough  to  refuse  it." 

"I  like  to  take  time  by  the  forelock,"  he  answered, 
with  good  temper. 

"There  is  such  a  thing  as  the  more  haste  the  less 
speed." 

154 


Let   Not   Man   Put  Asunder 

"I  know  you  don't  intend  to  disobey  me,  dear;  so  why 
should  we  talk  like  two  children?" 

A  sudden  flush  rose  to  Petrina's  cheek,  but  she  check 
ed  the  reply  that  was  trembling  on  her  tongue. 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  said,  haughtily,  rising  as  she  spoke. 
"I  think  I  will  go  up-stairs." 

But  she  took  the  pains  to  be  very  gracious  to  Lady 
Yorkshire  and  Mr.  Amos  as  she  passed  out,  and  to 
have  a  final  word  with  the  Duchess  of  Ambleside,  know 
ing  that  Vassall  was  behind  her,  silent  and  annoyed. 


CHAPTER  III 

"CAN  you  imagine  anything  lovelier  than  an  early 
summer  morning  at  Orpington  Park?"  Petrina  asked, 
as  she  came  out  before  breakfast  to  join  Vassall,  who 
was  already  walking  on  the  terrace. 

The  two  stood  still  to  look  over  the  soft  landscape,  at 
this  moment  fresh  and  sparkling  with  the  effect  of  sun 
light  upon  dew. 

The  house,  of  the  style  of  architecture  called  in  Eng 
land  Italian — long,  rectangular,  and  gray — stood  on  a 
slight  eminence,  commanding  an  extensive  view  over 
Kent.  The  gardens  and  lawns  were  terraced  until 
they  descended  to  the  park ;  the  park  dipped  and  dimpled 
and  rolled  till  it  merged  into  pastures ;  and  the  pastures 
stretched  into  orchards,  hop-gardens,  and  farms.  Here 
and  there  a  red  roof,  here  and  there  a  spire,  here  and 
there  the  semi -conical  cowl  of  a  hop -kiln  appeared 
above  the  trees.  The  may  was  in  blossom  along  every 
hedge  and  on  every  hill-top;  and  the  land  was  flushed 
and  flower-bedecked  like  a  bride. 

The  terrace  on  which  Vassall  and  Petrina  stood  was 
bordered  by  a  low  .stone  balustrade,  over  which  ivy  and 
honeysuckle  clambered  from  still  another  terrace  below. 
The  long  stone  line  was  broken  at  intervals  by  huge 
vases,  in  which  were  plants  in  bloom.  Peacocks  were 
strutting  on  the  lawn,  and  thrushes  singing  everywhere. 
It  was  Sunday  morning;  and  even  Nature  seemed  to 
know  it. 

"I  say,  Uncle  Harry,"  called  a  boy's  voice.  "Aren't 

156 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

you  and  Aunt  Petrina  coming  in  to  breakfast?     I'm 
starving,  and  mother  won't  be  down  for  hours." 

"All  right,  my  son;  we'll  come,"  Vassall  called  in 
reply. 

As  they  turned  they  saw  in  the  open  French  window 
of  the  breakfast-room  a  bright-faced  boy  of  fifteen  in  an 
Eton  jacket,  turned-down  linen  collar,  and  long,  gray 
trousers.  He  was  as  like  Sir  Humphrey  de  Bohun 
as  a  sapling  is  like  a  tree. 

"Poor  Tristram!"  said  Petrina,  as  they  went  towards 
him. 

The  boy's  rosy  face  broke  into  a  dimpling  smile,  the 
very  reflection  of  his  father's. 

"Mother  made  a  great  fuss  about  getting  me  home 
from  Bab's  to  meet  you,"  he  complained.  "And  now 
I'm  left  to  die  of  hunger." 

" But  we  are  here  to  come  to  your  rescue." 

"That's  why  I'm  glad  you've  married  Uncle  Harry," 
he  returned.  "  I  said  to  Polly,  '  Now  there  will  be  one 
more  person  to  take  us  off  our  incompetent  parents' 
hands/" 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  my  young  rover,"  Vassall 
said. 

"  But  you've  only  to  look  at  me  to  see  how  badly  they 
do  their  duty,  Uncle  Harry,"  the  lad  persisted.  "Every 
one  at  Bab's  thinks  I'm  the  worst  brought-up  boy  in  the 
school,  and  me  the  heir  to  a  baronet  of  Nova  Scotia!" 

"How  should  you  have  liked  me  for  a  mother?"  said 
Petrina,  coming  up  and  stopping  him  with  a  kiss. 

"I  don't  know  about  mother,"  he  said,  as  he  disen 
gaged  himself  from  her  embrace,  "  but  if  I  had  my  life 
to  begin  over  again  you  would  be  something  nearer 
than  an  aunt." 

"  And  where  should  I  have  come  in?"  Vassall  asked, 
with  a  laugh. 

157 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"I  should  always  have  allowed  you  the  pleasure  of 
being  my  uncle." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  breakfast-room. 

"What  an  excruciating  little  man!"  said  Petrina, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Humphrey's  looks,  but  Emmy's  power  of  language. " 

"  By  the  way/'  said  Petrina,  before  she  took  her  place, 
"have  you  put  everything  beside  Hippolyta's  plate? 
Yes,"  she  went  on  —  "Humphrey's  letter,  his  two 
packets,  our  fan  —  yes,  they  are  all  there.  Thanks, 
dear." 

"And  I've  invested  ten  shillings  of  my  hard-earned 
pocket-money  in  a  leather  handkerchief -case,"  Tris 
tram  remarked,  as  they  all  sat  down.  "That's  the 
package  tied  with  the  piece  of  red  string.  The  other's 
a  card  from  Humphie.  Oh,  I  say,  do  look  at  Polly 
with  her  hair  done  up  !  Isn't  she  like  granny's  pict 
ure?" 

Petrina  glanced  up  from  her  ministrations  with  the 
coffee,  and  Vassall  from  his  with  the  cold  ham. 

The  breakfast-room  opened  into  the  tapestry-room; 
the  tapestry-room  into  the  smaller  drawing-room.  The 
tapestry-room  was  long.  In  the  great,  square  doorway 
at  the  farther  end,  and  framed  between  two  Corinthian 
columns  from  which  stretched  hangings  of  soft  old 
greens  and  blues,  stood  a  tall  and  slender  girl  in  white, 
her  golden  hair  coiled  like  a  coronet — blushing  and 
smiling  in  the  self-consciousness  of  this  first  acknowl 
edgment  of  womanhood.  High  up  on  the  wall  of  the 
drawing-room  behind  her  they  could  see  Dante  Ros- 
setti's  portrait  of  Lady  Constance  Glendower,  at  eigh 
teen — a  tall,  slight,  fair-haired  maiden,  like  a  Beatrice 
or  a  saint — robed  in  dark  green,  cloaked  in  red-brown, 
girdled  with  gold,  and  holding  a  white  lily  in  her  hand. 
Even  from  the  distance  at  which  they  sat  Vassall  and 

158 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

Petrina  could  see  the  likeness  between  the  portrait  and 
the  girl. 

"By  George!"  exclaimed  Vassall,  under  his  breath. 
"Isn't  she  pretty?" 

"Pretty  is  not  the  word/'  said  Petrina.  "She's  a 
great  beauty.  But  Humphrey  was  quite  right.  It's 
beauty  too  great  to  be  chic,  too  pure  to  be  a  fashion." 

The  girl  came  slowly  down  the  tapestry-room,  smil 
ing  shyly,  as  if  in  protest  against  her  appearance. 

"Soft  violet  eyes  like  hers,"  Petrina  went  on,  "will 
inspire  men  to  noble  acts,  but  never  invite  them  to  flirta 
tion." 

As  Hippolyta  came  nearer,  Petrina  rose  and  went  to 
meet  her. 

"  I  want  to  wish  you  many  happy — the  very  happiest 
— returns  of  the  day." 

"Thanks,  dear  Petrina,"  the  girl  replied,  while  they 
kissed  each  other. 

As  Vassall  offered  his  congratulations,  Petrina  took 
the  fan  from  the  box  and  opened  it. 

"  We  hope  you  will  use  this — for  our  sakes,"  she  said. 

Hippolyta  flushed  again  with  pleasure. 

"Oh,  how  lovely!  I've  never  had  anything  so  pretty 
of  my  own.  I  use  mother's  old  fans — " 

"And  just  look  here,"  said  Tristram,  as  they  all  took 
their  places  again  about  the  table.  "  Here's  something 
from  me  which  I  hope  you'll  appreciate,  for  it  has  cost 
me  more  than  ten  common  shillings'  worth  of  self- 
denial.  And  here's  something,  too,  from  your  poor, 
erring  father." 

"Don't  say  that,  Tristram,  not  even  in  fun,"  Hip 
polyta  said,  gently,  as  she  opened  her  father's  let 
ter. 

"I'm  not  in  fun.  We're  all  liable  to  error — even  I. 
And  how  can  any  one  tell  what  a  man  all  alone  in 

159 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

London  may  be  up  to?    Since  I've  been  at  Bab's  I've 
learned  a  thing  or  two." 

Vassall  and  Petrina  exchanged  glances,  but  Hip- 
poly  ta  was  too  deep  in  her  letter  to  heed  her  brother's 
talk.  She  opened  her  packages  with  pretty  pleasure. 
Her  father's  trinkets  filled  her  with  joy,  and  Tristram's 
boyish  gift  brought  the  shimmer  of  tears  to  her  soft 
eyes. 

"Thank  you  so  much,  dear  old  Tristie,"  she  said, 
leaning  across  the  table  to  pat  his  hand. 

"  But  you're  going  to  get  something  much  better 
than  that,  you  know,"  said  the  boy.  "I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  but  I  expect  it's  jewelry.  I  heard  mother 
telling  Henshaw  that  it  cost  a  tremendous  lot,  and  that 
she  had  put  into  it  all  her  winnings  for  months." 

Hippolyta  turned  scarlet. 

"Hush!"  she  whispered. 

"Well,  she  did,"  the  boy  insisted.  "And  to  my  cer 
tain  knowledge  she's  had  very  particular  luck.  One 
night,  about  a  month  ago,  she  won  over  fifty  pounds 
from  old  Bertie.  I  heard  her  say  so.  And  another 
time  Dick  Lechmere  lost  to  her  more  than — " 

"Do  excuse  me,  good  people,"  cried  Lady  de  Bohun, 
who  rushed  into  the  room,  with  soft  skirts  and  di 
aphanous  sleeves  all  blowing  with  her  motion.  In  one 
hand  she  held  a  white  velvet  case,  while  with  the  other 
she  was  trying  to  adjust  the  lace  knotted  at  her  throat. 
"I  really  did  hurry— " 

"Mother's  always  in  a  hurry,  and  yet  never  in  time," 
said  Tristram,  with  his  mouth  full. 

"  Good  -  morning,  Petrina.  Good  -  morning,  Harry. 
Good-morning,  Tristram.  Hold  your  head  up  and  sit 
straight." 

Lady  de  Bohun  passed  round  the  table  and  pecked 
a  hasty  kiss  at  each  one  in  turn. 

1 60 


Let   Not   Man   Put  Asunder 

"Good-morning,  Hippolyta.  Let  me  see  how  Hen- 
shaw  has  done  your  hair.  Well,  you  do  look  like  your 
granny.  I  suppose  we  shall  get  used  to  your  hair  like 
that.  At  present  it  makes  you  look  as  if  you  were 
dressed  up  for  private  theatricals.  Now,  don't  hold 
your  head  so  much  like  a  Zenobia  in  chains.  It  gives 
you  a  proud  look — doesn't  it,  Petrina? — and  I'm  sure  a 
girl  of  your  age —  Oh,  by  the  way,  here  is  your  pres 
ent.  Mind  you,  this  is  from  me,  not  from  your  father. 
I've  earned  every  penny  that  paid  for  it." 

"  You  mean  you've  won  it  at  cards,  mother,"  said  the 
boy. 

"It's  the  same  thing,  Tristram,"  said  his  mother, 
sharply.  "And  please  don't  contradict." 

"I  wasn't  contradicting;  I  was  only  explaining." 

"Then  keep  your  remarks  till  they're  asked  for." 

"That  would  be  too  long.  They  won't  bear  salting 
down." 

"No,  don't  get  up,"  Lady  de  Bohun  protested,  as 
Petrina  offered  to  yield  the  head  of  the  table.  "I  will 
sit  here  beside  Harry.  Give  me  a  cup  of  coffee,  pour 
V amour  de  Dieu.  My  strength  is  almost  spent.  The 
cares  of  a  family  are  too  much  for  me.  I  wasn't  meant 
to  be  left  to  struggle  on  alone  like  this." 

"Yet  you  manage  to  do  prettv  well,"  said  Vas- 
sall. 

"  My  dear  Harry,  I  begin  every  day  like  '  Phedre ' — 
at  the  highest  pitch  of  anguish." 

"Mother,  if  I  have  ever  given  you  half  the  anxiety 
that  you  and  father  have  given  me,"  Tristram  began, 
but  Lady  de  Bohun  was  paying  him  no  attention. 
She  was  looking  at  Hippolyta,  who  sat  with  eyes  down 
cast  and  burning  cheeks,  feigning  to  eat,  but  really  tak 
ing  nothing.  The  white  velvet  case  lay  unopened  be 
side  her.  Lady  de  Bohun  rolled  her  eyes  eloquently, 
L  161 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

first  towards  Petrina,  then  towards  Vassall,  throwing 
apart  her  hands  with  a  little  gesture  of  despair. 

"The  Blessed  Damozel,"  she  murmured,  with  pinched 
lips,  so  that  Hippolyta  should  not  hear. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  look  at  your  present?"  she 
said,  aloud.  "  It  is  scarcely  worth  while  spending  eight 
hundred  pounds,  to  say  nothing  of  all  my  excitement, 
anxiety,  and  time." 

Hippolyta  lifted  her  eyes  with  an  expression  of  dumb 
pain,  but  she  took  the  case  and  opened  it.  The  color 
fled  from  her  cheek,  and  then  came  hotly  back,  as  she 
saw  what  her  mother  had  given  her.  The  simple  neck 
let  of  pearls — one  row — lying  on  a  cushion  of  pale-blue 
velvet  was  as  pure  as  her  own  face.  She  gazed  long 
at  it,  and  then  once  more  lifted  her  eyes,  still  full  of  that 
mute  pleading. 

"Well?" 

"Thanks,  mother,"  the  girl  managed  to  stammer, 
and  turned  scarlet  again. 

"How  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is,"  Lady 
de  Bohun  quoted,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  am  not  a  thankless  child,  mother,"  the  girl  asserted, 
with  fine  dignity,  holding  up  her  head,  while  the  flaming 
color  died  away. 

' '  I  didn't  say  you  were,  dear ;  only,  at  times,  our  looks 
belie  us. " 

"  You  are  more  than  kind  to  me,  mother,  but — " 

"  Then,  if  you  think  so,  wear  the  necklet  with  your 
new  low-cut  gown  to-night  when  Major  Bertie  and  Mr. 
Lechmere  come  to  dinner.  That  reminds  me,"  she  went 
on,  briskly,  turning  to  Vassall :  "  did  I  tell  you  that  Dick 
Lechmere  was  staying  over  at  Keston  Castle  with  Ger 
ald  Bertie?" 

Then  the  brother  and  sister  began  to  discuss  com 
mon  acquaintances  and  family  affairs.  Hippolyta  and 

162 


Let   Not   Man   Put  Asunder 

Tristram,  when  they  had  finished  breakfast,  slipped 
quietly  from  the  room.  Petrina  slowly  sipped  her 
coffee,  and  listened  in  silence,  trying  to  analyze  Emilia 
de  Bohun's  charm. 

That  she  had  charm,  her  severest  critics  never  denied. 
Her  beauty  was  of  the  fragile,  wistful  type, which  seem 
ed  to  call  on  every  one  to  be  very  tender.  In  her  eyes 
was  that  beseeching  glance  which  claimed  beforehand 
the  right  to  be  inconsequent  and  irresponsible.  The 
air  of  asceticism  which  was  spiritual  in  her  mother, 
and  in  her  brother  stern,  gave  to  Lady  de  Bohun  the 
expression  of  one  purified  seven  times  in  the  fire.  In 
conversation  with  her  one  felt  that  she  had  suffered 
much,  and  had  had  experiences  outside  the  ordinary 
range.  Her  tone  enlisted  one's  sympathies.  A  some 
thing  pathetic  and  inefficient  in  her  mien  forced  for 
giveness  before  one  had  time  to  disapprove.  Even 
her  smile  was  distant,  wan,  and  sweet  with  the  memory 
of  unutterable  things,  like  that  of  Sarah  Bernhardt  in 
"  La  Dame  aux  Camelias  "  or  "  Phedre." 

She  had  inherited  a  countenance  wThose  expression 
was  like  the  light  which  lingers  in  the  sky  long  after 
sunset — the  reflection  of  some  ancestral  fire  gone  out. 
If  in  her  face  there  were  prayers,  they  had  been  said  by 
Pepperells  and  Vassalls  now  sleeping  in  Massachusetts 
church-yards.  If  in  her  voice  there  were  tears,  they  had 
been  shed  by  those  who  would  weep  no  more.  She 
mirrored  the  emotions  she  had  never  felt;  and  all  that 
was  left  of  joys  and  sorrows  and  spiritual  aspirations 
which  had  once  thrilled  human  hearts  was  in  that 
plaintive  echo  they  had  given  to  this  woman's  tone  and 
the  light  of  petition  they  had  left  burning  in  her  eyes. 

But  Lady  de  Bohun  made  no  conscious  use  of  these 
advantages.  Never  was  there  any  one  who  thought 
less  of  personal  appearance.  Never  was  there  any  one 

163 


Let  Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

with  less  coquetry.  She  dressed  at  hap-hazard;  she 
spoke  what  she  thought;  she  did  what  the  moment 
suggested.  Nothing  ever  went  quite  aright  with  her. 
Her  dressmaker  was  always  late ;  her  cook  was  always 
dishonest ;  she  herself  was  the  prey  of  unhappy  chances. 
As  Tristram  had  just  said  of  her,  she  was  always  in  a 
hurry  yet  never  in  time.  She  was  always  busy  yet 
never  accomplishing  anything. 

But  in  contrast  with  her  air  of  inefficiency  was  the 
cleverness  of  her  talk  and  the  unexpected  shrewdness 
of  her  judgments.  Her  mind  was  of  the  kind  which  can 
occupy  itself  with  everything  but  duty.  She  did  not 
reflect,  but  she  had  illuminations.  She  allowed  servants 
to  regulate  her  domestic  affairs,  and  any  one  who  chose 
to  take  charge  of  her  children ;  but  she  read  extensively, 
rapidly,  and  retentively.  There  was  no  order  in  her 
reading,  and  little  preference  of  taste.  Herbert  Spencer, 
Wordsworth,  and  Gabriele  d'Annunzio  were  equally  to 
her  liking;  and  her  criticisms  were  quick  and  sound. 
She  could  judge  of  pictures  as  of  books,  and  of  men 
as  of  pictures.  She  expressed  herself  freely  and  frankly, 
without  self-consciousness,  but  with  a  certain  vehement 
sincerity.  She  attached  no  importance  to  saying  clever 
things ;  and  had  long  forgotten  her  own  epigrams  when 
they  were  still  being  passed  around  as  specimens  of 
her  wit. 

"If  Emmy  had  only  married  in  Boston,"  Petrina 
mused,  as  she  sat  and  listened,  "  she  would  have  been 
very  different  from  this.  Our  New  England  discipline 
would  have  toned  her  down.  Our  mental  east  winds 
would  have  chilled  her  impetuosity.  Our  social  self- 
repression  would  have  checked  her  appalling  frankness 
and  taken  away  her  audacity.  Her  name  would  not 
have  been  mentioned  half  a  dozen  times  in  every  number 
of  The  World.  She  would  never  have  enjoyed  the  friend- 

164 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

ship  of  a  prince ;  but  she  would  have  married  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Somerset  Club,  and  had  a  house  at  Pride's 
Crossing." 

Petrina's  judgment  was  just.  Lady  de  Bohun's  nat 
ural  tendency  was  to  take  the  tone  around  her.  Had 
she  married  in  Boston,  she  would  have  conformed  to  Bos 
ton  standards ;  but  she  had  married  not  only  into  English 
life,  but  into  a  special  section  of  English  society.  From 
the  first  day  of  her  installation  at  Orpington  Park  and 
in  Curzon  Street  she  had  found  herself  surrounded  by 
people  who  formed  a  kind  of  social  free-masonry.  Some 
were  rich,  some  had  titles,  some  had  talents;  some  had 
two  of  these  qualifications,  and  some  all  three,  while 
a  very  few  had  none.  In  society  they  constituted  an 
empire  within  an  empire — and  the  throne,  like  that  of 
Russia,  was  neither  hereditary  nor  elective,  but  oc- 
cupative.  Admission  to  their  ranks  was  both  difficult 
and  easy;  people  of  great  importance  could  sometimes 
not  get  in,  when  the  way  was  often  open  to  the  first 
chance  adventurer. 

The  young  American  Lady  de  Bohun  entered  at 
once,  by  a  conceded  but  inexplicable  right.  Fresh 
from  the  reticence  of  Old  Cambridge,  what  she  saw  on 
her  first  plunge  into  English  life  surprised  her.  She 
found  a  .society  full  of  paradox  and  anomaly,  at  once 
more  orthodox  and  more  loose,  more  aristocratic  and 
more  republican,  than  that  she  had  left  behind.  .She 
found  herself  among  people  so  socially  strong,  so  nat 
urally  proud,  so  individually  free,  that  they  had  no 
need  to  restrain  themselves.  They  could  ignore  man 
ners,  because  there  was  no  one  whom  they  wished  to 
please;  they  could  transgress  morals,  because  there 
was  no  one  whom  they  were  obliged  to  respect.  They 
did  not  fear  law,  for  they  made  it ;  nor  society,  for  they 
ruled  it ;  nor  the  Church,  for  they  were  patrons  of  count- 

165 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

less  livings;  nor  public  opinion,  for  they  held  it  in 
scorn.  It  is  easy  to  elude,  or  twist,  or  turn,  or  mould, 
or  break  conventions,  when,  like  the  Duchess  of  Am- 
bleside,  one  of  your  brothers  is  Prime  Minister  and 
another  an  archbishop;  while  your  kinsfolk  and  ac 
quaintance  make  up  a  handsome  proportion  of  the 
clergy,  the  army,  the  navy,  the  learned  professions, 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  the  House  of  Lords.  It 
is  easy  to  be  capricious,  and  something  more,  when 
you  know  that  the  very  people  who  condemn  your  acts 
delight  in  the  honor  of  your  friendship.  The  Duchess 
of  Ambleside  found  herself  in  a  position  to  assume 
towards  morality  and  etiquette  the  attitude  which  .she 
took  towards  grammar — the  wrong  became  right  be 
cause  she  did  it.  Lady  Yorkshire  could  do  the  same. 
Many  others  could  do  the  same.  Millionaires  like  Mrs. 
Poynter  and  Mr.  Amos  supported  the  privileges  of 
"birth"  with  money.  Actresses  like  Mrs.  Tredelly, 
painters  like  Hartley  Payne,  and  singers  like  Madame 
de  Prony  brought  the  aid  of  art.  There  were  journal 
ists  to  give  notoriety,  and  clergymen  to  add  respecta 
bility.  The  combination  was  powerful  but  co-opera 
tive;  interdependent,  but  presenting  a  bold  front  tow 
ards  the  world. 

Lady  de  Bohun's  first  mistake  was  in  supposing  this 
to  be  the  whole  of  English  life.  Before  she  realized  her 
error  it  was  too  late  to  withdraw.  It  was  not  that  she 
had  ever  wanted  to  withdraw;  but  she  never  quite  lost 
the  consciousness  that  she  had  wandered  very  far  from 
the  traditional  mother's  knee. 

In  her  new  life  she  had  begun  timidly  and  tentatively 
— at  once  a  little  flattered  and  a  little  shocked.  It  took 
her  at  least  a  few  years  to  adjust  her  mind  to  the  ab 
sence  of  high  standards,  to  the  pursuit  of  fugitive  pleas 
ure,  and  to  the  adoration  of  naked  wealth.  She  did 

166 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

not  at  first  accept  very  easily  the  attentions  of  men 
other  than  her  husband;  and  with  regard  to  cards 
she  was  ridiculously  Puritan.  The  difference  between 
American  and  English  materialism  she  found  hard  to 
understand.  In  her  own  country  she  had  known  men 
who  worked  grimly,  unflaggingly,  and  often  sordidly, 
for  money,  as  an  end;  in  England,  those  with  whom 
she  was  thrown  snatched  wildly,  openly,  and  often 
hysterically,  at  it,  as  a  means.  It  surprised  her  to  ob 
serve  that  at  a  time  when  Americans  were  endeavoring 
to  advance  by  putting  ideals  before  money,  the  English 
whom  she  knew  were  beginning  to  retrograde,  by  put 
ting  money  before  ideals. 

In  the  religious  attitude  of  those  around  her  she  was 
equally  perplexed.  She  had  sprung  from  a  people  who 
were  strict  about  morals,  but  gave  large  liberty  in  mat 
ters  of  faith;  she  found  herself  among  those  who  were 
strict  about  faith,  but  gave  large  liberty  in  matters  of 
morals. 

But  these  and  all  other  questions  were  solved  as  she 
went  on  and  gained  experience.  She  was  able  in  time 
to  take  the  English  point  of  view  better  than  the  Amer 
ican.  She  adapted  herself  slowly,  but  with  great  suc 
cess.  A  moment  came  when  she  conceded  the  point 
that  conversation  between  men  and  women  had  better 
be  free  than  reticent.  After  that  her  popularity  mount 
ed  rapidly.  The  little  things  she  whispered  to  her 
neighbors  at  table  were  repeated  later  amid  roars  of 
laughter  in  the  smoking-room,  and  dubbed  American. 
Next,  she  overcame  her  prejudice  with  regard  to  cards. 
When  she  did  so  she  played  with  skill;  and  her  luck 
became  the  subject  of  remark.  As  years  went  by  the 
demure  little  maiden  who  had  grown  up  in  Old  Cam 
bridge  under  Mrs.  Vassall's  wing  disappeared  in  the 
quick-witted  woman  of  the  world — a  favorite  at  Amble- 

167 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

side  House,  and  a  frequent  guest  at  the  parties  made 
up  in  those  days  to  meet  the  Prince. 

As  Petrina  listened  while  the  brother  and  sister  talked, 
she  knew  that  Vassall  was  wincing  inwardly  at  the 
plainness  of  his  sister's  speech.  She  understood  now 
why  Mrs.  Vassall  had  not  visited  her  daughter  for  more 
than  seven  years. 

And  yet  upon  Petrina  herself  Lady  de  Bohun  had 
the  effect  of  a  temptation — something  which  shocked 
and  yet  attracted  her,  which  appalled  her  and  yet  filled 
her  with  a  certain  envy. 


CHAPTER  IV 

STILL  gossiping  of  things  and  people  in  Boston 
and  Cambridge,  Lady  de  Bohun,  Petrina,  and  Vas- 
sall  strolled  from  the  breakfast  -  room  to  the  terrace, 
and  sat  down  on  a  garden  seat  under  a  great  yew- 
tree.  The  bells  of  Bishop's  Orpington  Church  were 
pealing  from  the  other  side  of  the  park. 

Presently  Tristram  come  forth,  wearing  a  high  hat 
and  gloves,  a  cane  in  his  right  hand  and  a  huge  prayer- 
book  tucked  under  his  left  arm. 

"Who's  coming  to  church?"  he  asked,  standing  at 
some  little  distance  from  the  three  under  the  yew-tree. 

"Why  on  earth  do  you  want  to  go  to  church  on  a 
lovely  day  like  this?"  Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  languidly. 

"To  learn  how  to  set  a  good  example  to  my  chil 
dren,  when  I  get  'em,"  replied  Tristram. 

"While  you  are  at  it,"  Lady  de  Bohun  returned, 
more  briskly,  "  you  might  see  what  there  is  on  the  sub 
ject  of  honoring  your  father  and  mother." 

"Oh,  I've  known  that  a  long  time,  mamma  dear,  only 
you  and  papa  don't  give  me  any  chance  to  show  it." 

Tristram  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 

"Do  you  know,"  Lady  de  Bohun  confided,  in  a  low 
ered  voice,  "I  sometimes  wish  that  boy  had  been  born 
without  a  tongue." 

"  He  has  such  a  boyish  face  that  his  speeches  are  un 
canny,"  said  Petrina. 

"Oh,  I  assure  j^ou,"  Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  in  a  tone 
that  had  tears  in  it,  "  he  makes  me  feel  quite  like  Ham- 

169 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

let's  mother.  He  talks  as  if  he  knew  things  beyond 
his  years.  It  frightens  me.  Not,  indeed,  that  there  is 
anything  for  him  to  know,  but — "  Lady  de  Bohun 
stopped  herself  as  she  saw  her  daughter,  too,  come  out 
of  the  house  on  her  way  to  church.  "  There's  Hippol- 
yta.  She's  off,  of  course.  She  never  misses — and  the 
choir-boys  sing  so  dreadfully  out  of  tune.  I  simply 
can't  go;  it  gives  me  a  headache.  And  I'm  sure  there's 
somebody  buried  under  our  pew — I  have  such  a  smoth 
ering  feeling  every  time  I  sit  in  it.  How  do  you  like 
Hippolyta's  hat?  That  sort  of  broad  Leghorn  is  be 
coming  to  her,  I  think." 

"She  is  really  too  divine,"  said  Petrina. 

"  That's  just  it,"  complained  Lady  de  Bohun.  "  She's 
the  gentle  being  quite 

"  '  Too  good  for  human  nature's  daily  food/ 

if  I  may  alter  the  lines.     She'll  frighten  the  men  away. " 

"Let's  hope  so,"  said  Vassall.  "There  isn't  a  man 
in  a  million  good  enough  for  her." 

"  That's  all  very  fine,"  sighed  Lady  de  Bohun.  "  But 
you  won't  have  to  take  her  out  next  winter. " 

"No — worse  luck,"  Vassall  assented. 

Hippolyta  had  crossed  from  the  house  and  was  about 
to  descend  to  the  terrace  below.  She  paused  for  a  sec 
ond,  and  looked  over  at  the  group  and  smiled.  Far 
down  the  slopes  of  the  park  Tristram's  sturdy  figure 
could  be  seen  trudging  off  towards  Bishop's  Orpington. 

"Don't  you  want  to  take  me  with  you,  Hippolyta?" 
Vassall  called. 

"You  know  I  do." 

"  Oh,  Harry,  don't  go,"  pleaded  Petrina.  "  Hippolyta 
won't  mind.  It's  so  lovely  here." 

"Yes,  let  him  go,"  Lady  de  Bohun  insisted.  "Then 

170 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

we  shall  have  the  house  to  ourselves,  and  I  do  so  want 
to  have  a  long  talk  with  you.  I  can't  talk  before  Harry; 
he's  so  unsympathetic.  It's  like  singing  to  a  person 
who  has  no  ear  for  music.  Do  go,  Harry.  Wait,  Hip- 
polyta.  Your  uncle  is  going  with  you." 

So  Vassall  went. 

"How  you've  tidied  him  up!"  Lady  de  Bohun  re 
marked,  a  few  minutes  later,  as  her  brother,  very  care 
fully  dressed,  walked  across  the  park  at  Hippolyta's 
side.  "He  used  to  be  so  indifferent  about  what  he 
wore. " 

"I  think  he  is  improved,"  Petrina  admitted. 

"Immensely.  He's  so  much  more  human  than  he 
used  to  be.  The  social  side  of  life  interested  him  so 
little." 

"And  not  enough  yet." 

"But  you'll  bring  him  to  it;  I  can  see  that.  He  is 
really  very  good-looking,  when  you  come  to  study  his 
face.  It  never  struck  me  before.  I  feel  about  him  as 
one  does  about  a  familiar  bit  of  family  furniture,  to 
which  you  never  paid  any  attention  until  some  one  else 
admired  it." 

"He  was  only  your  brother,  you  see." 

"  I  was  simply  amazed  when  I  heard  you  were  going 
to  marry  him." 

"Not  unpleasantly,  I  hope." 

"Heavens,  no.  I  knew  it  would  be  the  making  of 
him,  and  it  is.  Only  don't — " 

"Yes?"  asked  Petrina,  as  Lady  de  Bohun  hesitated. 
"Don't  what?" 

"Don't  set  going  a  machine  which  you  can't  control. 
Never  forget  the  moral  of  Frankenstein." 

"I  suppose  you  are  not  speaking  out  of  a  bitter  ex 
perience,"  Petrina  laughed.  "Humphrey  doesn't  seem 
to  me  exacting." 

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Let   Not    Man  Put   Asunder 

"Poor  Humphrey!"  Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  throwing 
up  her  hands  in  perplexity.  "What  a  problem  I 
have  to  deal  with  there!" 

"Problem?" 

"Yes,  problem.  I  must  decide  whether  to  keep  him 
as  he  is  or  let  him  go." 

"Let  him  go  to  what  extent?" 

"  To  any  extent.  I  haven't  told  you  yet  that  I  have 
begun  my  proceedings  for  divorce.  That's  why  I  wanted 
Harry  to  go  to  church.  I  wished  to  tell  you.  I  can  see 
you  are  horrified." 

"Not  horrified  exactly,  Emmy  dear;  but  I  can't  help 
wondering — " 

"No,  of  course  not;  nor  I.  I  am  wondering  all  the 
time.  It  is  so  hard  to  decide  whether  to  go  on  with  it 
or  not." 

"Then  you  could  still  withdraw?" 

"I  am  extremely  cautious.  All  that  I've  done  as 
yet  is  to  consult  Sir  Charles  Freeman.  He  tells  me 
that  I  can  have  a  decree  nisi — I  think  that's  what  he 
called  it — whenever  I  like  to  press  for  it." 

"Wouldn't  Humphrey  defend  it?" 

"He  simply  couldn't.  He  would  never  attempt  it. 
By  the  way,  did  I  tell  you  that  I  had  met  Hetty  Vienne?" 

"Oh,  Emmy!     How  could  you?" 

"I  did,  my  dear.  It  was  most  interesting.  It  was 
at  that  big  the  chantant  given  for  the  King's  Cross 
Hospital.  Of  course  they  had  a  lot  of  actresses  to  recite 
and  sing  and  wait  at  table,  and  among  them,  if  you 
please,  was  Miss  Hetty  Vienne.  Did  you  ever  hear 
such  a  name?"  Lady  de  Bohun  went  on,  vehemently. 
"Why  shouldn't  she  just  as  well  call  herself  Hetty 
Bruxelles  or  Hetty  Geneve?  Of  course  she  made  it  up. 
These  acting  women  are  born  with  such  ridiculous 
patronymics.  There  was  Lucy  Fitzalan,  that  Hum- 

172 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

phrey  was  so  crazy  about — but  it's  no  use  raking  up 
ancient  history  of 'that  kind.  At  any  rate,  her  real  name 
was  Matilda  Tabb.  I  think  it  was  the  discovery  of 
that  genteel  fact  that  really  put  an  end  to  Humphrey's 
infatuation.  But  I  was  telling  you  about  Hetty  Vienne 
— Hetty  Pidge,  or  Pudge,  most  likely.  Well,  when  I 
heard  she  was  actually  there,  and  that  people  were 
watching  to  see  if  some  accident  would  throw  us  to 
gether,  I  determined  that  they  shouldn't  look  in  vain. 
I  asked  Gerald  Bertie  to  introduce  her  to  me." 

"He  ought  to  have  refused." 

"He  did.  I  had  to  insist.  He  gave  way  only  when 
he  saw  that  if  he  didn't  I  should  find  some  one  else  who 
would." 

"And  she?    What  was  she  like?" 

"  Charming — perfectly  charming.  A  pretty  girl,  fair, 
blue-eyed — a  little  made-up — and  with  the  nicest  mari 
ners.  It  was  difficult  to  believe — but  then  it  always  is 
difficult  to  believe.  Take  Agneta  Yorkshire,  for  in 
stance.  If  you  didn't  knoiv — " 

"  But  what  did  you  talk  about?" 

"Why,  about  Humphrey." 

"Oh,  no,  Emmy." 

"Mais  si.  She  began  it,  by  saying,  almost  at  once, 
'I'm  so  glad  to  meet  you,  Lady  de  Bohun.  I  think  I 
know  your  husband.'  My  dear,  it  was  better  than 
anything  on  the  stage.  '  I  think  I  know ' !" 

"Wasn't  it  dreadfully  embarrassing?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  replied,  'I  think  I  have  heard 
him  speak  of  you,  Miss  Vienne ' ;  and  then  I  made  her 
sit  down  and  have  tea  with  me.  It  was  perfectly  lovely. 
Everybody  stared;  and  they  say  the  Prince  was — " 

"I  can't  think  that  it  was  right,  Emmy." 

"Of  course  it  wasn't.  But  I've  never  regretted  it, 
especially  as  Humphrey  himself  came  in  and  saw  it  all. 

173 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

Poor  man,  if  I  ever  had  anything  against  him,  I  had 
my  vengeance  then.  He  strolled  down  the  great  hall, 
smiling  his  wonderful  smile  quite  gratis  to  every  one 
who  came  in  his  way — when  all  at  once,  when  he  was 
expecting  nothing  in  particular,  he  saw  us  two  sitting 
gossiping  over  our  tea.  Petrina,  I  felt  myself  repaid 
for  having  married,  just  to  have  had  that  moment. 
She  didn't  see  him,  and  I  never  let  him  know  that  I 
did.  He  grew  first  red,  then  white,  and  then  turned 
and  fled.  It  was  a  sight  to  see,  and  was  worth  more 
than  the  price  of  admission.  They  say  the  Prince 
said—" 

"  But  how  did  it  end?    How  did  you  separate?" 

"  Oh,  naturally,  I  couldn't  let  her  go  feeling  that  I  had 
met  her  as  an  equal." 

"No?    But  how?" 

"  Just  by  chance ;  I  am  always  having  those  chances. 
Besides,  I  was  looking  for  an  opening.  She  had  just 
said — why,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know — that  she  was  an 
officer's  daughter.  'Commissioned?'  I  asked,  quite  in 
nocently,  and  rising  as  I  spoke.  She  colored  a  little 
and  said,  'I  didn't  know  there  was  any  other  kind.' 
'Oh,  yes/  I  answered,  sweetly,  'there  are  the  non-com 
missioned —  corporals,  and  sergeants,  and  such -like. 
Good-bye.  So  glad  to  have  met  you/  ' 

"And  Humphrey  has  never  said — ?" 

"Never.  It  is  one  of  his  gifts  to  know  when  to  let 
well  enough  alone.  I  wonder  whether  I  have  the  same 
faculty." 

"If  you  have  I  should  think  that  now  was  the  time 
to  make  use  of  it.  I  don't  see  how  you  are  going  to  im 
prove  your  position  by  divorce.  In  fact,  you  might 
easily  make  it  worse." 

"Not  among  the  really  nice  people.  They  almost 
like  you  better  for  the  sensation  and  the — the  scandal, 

174 


Let    Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

you  know.  And  about  the  rest  of  the  world  one  doesn't 
care." 

"Besides,  Humphrey  might  marry  again/'  Petrina 
argued. 

" Not  he.     I  am  positive  of  the  contrary." 

"  But  if  he  did,  how  should  you  feel?" 

"  Perhaps  a  twinge  or  two ;  perhaps  nothing  at 
all" 

"Tell  me  frankly,  Emmy,"  said  Petrina,  speaking 
with  a  deeper  earnestness.  "  Has  all  the  love  you 
used  to  feel  for  Humphrey  quite  died  away?" 

"Love,"  said  Lady  de  Bohun,  slowly — "love,  as  I 
understand  it,  is  like  a  garment.  When  it  is  new  we 
wear  it  with  pleasure.  When  it  has  lost  its  freshness 
we  wear  it  still — but  with  less  pride.  When  it  is  old  we 
twist  it  and  turn  it  and  try  to  make  it  serve  some  useful 
end.  But  a  day  comes  round  when  we  are  tired  to 
death  at  the  sight  of  it,  and  are  glad  to  give  it  away." 

"But  there  are  new  garments." 

"  And  there  is  new  love. " 

"But  when  a  man  and  woman  have  once  cared  for 
each  other — " 

"  They  can  become  as  if  they  had  never  cared  at  all. 
That  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  passion — which  differ 
entiates  it  from  liking  or  friendship,  or  any  other  af 
fection.  They  may  all  pass,  but  they  leave  some  sort  of 
trace  behind.  Love  can  go,  and  leave  no  trace;  and 
once  gone  it  is  as  impossible  to  recover  as  a  perfume 
scattered  by  the  wind.  Humphrey  and  I  could  never 
love  again,  for  the  very  reason  that  we  have  loved.  Love 
is  a  fire  which,  when  once  quenched,  can  never  be  re 
kindled.  Another  fire  may  burn  on  the  same  hearth, 
but  the  old  will  be  in  ashes." 

"And  with  you — ?    But  I  ought  not  to  ask." 

"  Yes,  ask,  Petrina.  Besides,  I  know  what  you  mean 

175 


Let    Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

to  say,  and  I  don't  quite  see  how  to  reply  to  you.   There 
is  some  one — " 

" Oh!     Isn't  it  rather — rather — soon?" 

"A  cause  can't  be  soon,  if  there  is  an  effect." 

"I  wonder  if  it  is  Major—?" 

"Yes,  Major  Bertie;  you've  guessed.  Of  course  you 
would  see  it  before  long. " 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"I  think  I  will  let  you  wait  and  see.  He  comes  to 
dinner  to-night.  He  is  very  English,  fair  and  florid, 
and  rather  attractive." 

"That  isn't  very  strong  language." 

"  He's  clever,  too.  He  paints  a  little,  and  writes  a 
little.  He  had  a  very  bad  picture  in  the  Academy  one 
year,  and  he  has  published  two  tolerably  good  books 
of  travel.  He  is  the  sort  of  man  who  passes  for  very 
brilliant  in  the  army,  but  he  wouldn't  be  considered  so 
elsewhere." 

"  And  yet  you  really  care  for  him?" 

"If  so,  it  isn't  for  his  talents.  He  has  other  qualifi 
cations." 

"What  are  they?" 

"In  the  first  place,  he  is  very  nice.  I  use  the  word 
nice,  because  it  is  vague.  It  means  much  or  little,  or 
anything  or  nothing;  and  I  will  leave  you  to  make  the 
interpretation." 

"And  in  the  second  place?" 

"  H^  is  very  rich.  He  inherited  Keston  and  a  lot  of 
money  two  years  ago  from  some  sort  of  uncle.  Then, 
he  has  prospects.  He  is  heir  presumptive  to  his  brother, 
the  Earl  of  Ullswater,  and  of  course  that  means — " 

"Yes,  I  see.     And  is  there  a  third  place?" 

"He  is  very  influential.  It  would  be  a  good  thing 
for  the  children  to  be  under  such  a  man  as  he,  and  nat 
urally  a  mother  always  thinks  first  of — " 

176 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Naturally,"  said  Petrina,  dryly,  stealing  a  glance 
at  Lady  de  Bohun's  face,  but  seeing  nothing  but  an 
air  of  seraphic  sweetness. 

"I  ought  to  say  that  I  am  not  positively  sure  of 
his  attitude.  The  affair  is  as  yet  only  in  the  platonic 
stage." 

"And  might  remain  there?" 

"  Yes ;  or  he  might  even — recede.  I  can't  quite  make 
him  out.  He  has  compromised  a  lot  of  people,  and  yet 
with  me  he  has  never  taken  the  slightest  liberty." 

"I  should  take  that  as  a  sign  that  he  is  serious." 

"I  do;  but  a  sign  is  not  a  certainty.  Men  are  like 
the  weather.  They  often  promise  sunshine,  and  then 
shift  round  and  give  you  showers." 

"So  that  you  want  to  be  sure  of  the  new  love  before 
you  are  quite  off  with  the  old?" 

"That  isn't  just  my  attitude.  If  the  new  love  offers 
itself  I  should  like  to  be  free  to  accept  it  or  reject  it,  as 
I  chose.  But  I  know  I  should  be  horribly  mortified  if  I 
took  the  trouble  to  make  myself  free,  and  then  the  new 
love  didn't  come.  Now  you  see  my  perplexity." 

"  Yes,"  said  Petrina.  "  But  I  think  you  might  assure 
yourself  beforehand — " 

"That  next  year  will  be  a  good  year  for  roses.  My 
dear,  the  one  is  as  easy  as  the  other." 

Petrina  did  not  reply.  For  a  long  time  the  two  sat 
silent,  gazing  absently  over  the  landscape  of  billowy 
green — each  busy  with  her  own  thoughts. 

"You  said,  I  think,  that  Harry's  friend,  Mr.  Lechmere, 
was  coming  to  dinner  too?" 

"  Yes.  He  is  spending  Sunday  with  Gerald  at  Keston 
Castle." 

"We  saw  his  wife  the  other  night,  at  the  Carlton 
House  Hotel." 

"  Oh,  Felicia.     Isn't  she  charming?" 
*  177 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"  It  was  at  a  distance,  and  one  couldn't  be  quite  sure. 
Do  you  know  her?" 

"Well." 

"I  should  like  immensely  to  meet  her." 

"Any  time  you  please,  dear.  I  will  ask  you  and 
Harry  to  lunch  or  dine  with  her  the  next  time  I  am  in 
town." 

"No;  not  Harry.  He  doesn't  like  women  of  that 
kind." 

"  Then  it  is  just  as  well  for  him.  But  if  Humphrey 
had  been  like  that  I  should  be  beating  my  wings  now 
like  a  canary  in  a  cage.  Thank  the  Lord,  at  least  that 
door  is  open." 

"Tell  me  all  about  Madame  de  Prony.  She  rather 
fascinates  me." 

"  I  couldn't  tell  you  all  about  her  if  I  wrote  a  book. 
She's  the  most  extraordinary  creature!" 

"Is  she  nice?" 

"Yes;  if,  as  I  said  just  now,  vou  take  nice  as  a  vague 
word,  admitting  of  any  interpretation." 

"Is  she — how  shall  I  put  it? — is  she  a  lady?" 

"  Lady  is  also  vague ;  but  if  you  take  the  word  in  its 
very  vaguest  sense,  she  is. " 

"Then  I  wonder  that  you  know  her  so  well." 

"  Oh,  one  meets  her  everywhere  now.  They  say  her 
character  would  make  her  a  celebrity  even  if  she  hadn't 
a  voice;  so  naturally  people  are  glad  to  have  her;  she 
makes  their  parties  talked  about,  and  that,  of  course,  is 
everything.  I  wonder,  though,  why  you  should  take 
such  an  interest  in  her?  Is  it  on  account  of  Dick?" 

"  Partly ;  but  I  am  always  attracted  by  those  of  whom 
the  world  speaks  evil." 

"  You  will  find  Felicia  a  perfect  magnet,  then.  You 
knew  Dick  wanted  her  to  take  him  back,  didn't  you?" 

"No!     Really?" 

178 


Let   Not   Man   Put  Asunder 

"Poor  Dick.  His  is  the  grand  passion  of  which 
one  sees  so  few  examples  nowadays.  I  scarcely  know 
whether  to  class  him  as  a  hero  or  a  fool.  Yes,  he  hunt 
ed  her  up  in  Vienna  on  his  return  from  America,  and 
begged  her  to  begin  all  over  again.  Of  course  she 
laughed  him  to  scorn.  She  would  as  soon  think  of 
going  back  to  last  year's  fashions.  She  isn't  exactly 
bad,  you  know — " 

"  What  is  bad?"  Petrina  asked. 

"Well,  that's  just  it.  Notions  about  good  and  bad 
differ  so  just  now  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  define 
one's  terms.  I  don't  think  her  bad ;  but  then  some  people 
are  so  dreadfully  narrow  on  that  subject.  Felicia  hasn't 
any  conscience,  and  a  heart  only  from  time  to  time; 
and  that's  the  worst  you  can  say  of  her." 

"Do  you  think  she  ever  really  cared  for  him?" 

"She  never  so  nearly  cared  for  any  one  else." 
'   "That  isn't  saying  much." 

"  It  is  for  her.  She  I',  never  forgiven  him  for  divorc 
ing  her;  and  I  don't  think  that  now  poor  Dick  forgives 
himself." 

"  And  yet  he  couldn't  have — " 

"Oh,  no.  It  was  too  patent — too  public.  He  was 
becoming  a  mere  jest.  She  concealed  nothing;  and 
Dick  isn't  a  Lord  Yorkshire." 

"Then  how  is  he  now?" 

"Down — terribly  down,  poor  old  boy.  I  am  often 
afraid  that  he'll  do  something  to  himself.  He's  that 
sort,  you  know.  It  wouldn't  astonish  me  in  the  least. " 

"Perhaps  Harry  can  help  him." 

"I  think  you  can,  too." 

"I  should  like  to,"  said  Petrina,  softly.  "I  will 
try/' 


CHAPTER  V 

As  they  left  the  church  Hippolyta  stopped  to  speak 
to  an  elderly  lady  in  the  habit  of  a  religious  order. 
Vassall  waited.  Tristram  trudged  off  homeward. 

"  Who  is  that?"  Vassall  asked,  when  Hippolyta  came 
up  to  him.  He  looked  after  the  nun,  who  had  joined 
a  company  of  some  twenty  sisters  dressed  like  herself, 
in  flowing  veils  and  mantles. 

"  That  is  the  Mother  Superior  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Luke 
the  Physician,  who  have  their  house  of  rest  near  here. 
They  go  about  nursing  the  sick  poor  in  their  own  homes. " 

"Moving  like  that  amid  the  blossoming  may,  they 
look  like  the  procession  of  nuns  in  the  last  act  of 
'Cyrano  de  Bergerac." 

"They  do  a  noble  work,"  said  Hippolyta,  gravely, 
as  she  and  Vassall  passed  through  the  churchyard  to 
take  the  path  towards  Orpington  Park. 

"Uncle  Harry,"  said  the  girl,  after  a  pause,  "do  you 
think  mother  would  ever  consent  to  my  going  into  St. 
Luke's  and  becoming  one  of  the  order?" 

She  flushed  and  spoke  timidly.  Vassall  hesitated 
before  replying. 

"  Aren't  you  too  young  to  think  of  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Too  young  to  decide,  perhaps,  but  not  too  young  to 
think." 

"Before  taking  so  serious  a  step,  a  girl  ought  to 
know  not  only  what  she  is  going  to,  but  what  she  is, 
giving  up.  She  should  see  something  of  the  world  be 
fore  renouncing  it." 

180 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"But  I  have  seen  so  much." 

Vassall  glanced  sharply  at  his  niece,  who  walked  on 
with  head  uplifted,  like  a  Zenobia  in  chains,  as  Lady 
de  Bohun  had  said  at  breakfast. 

"You  are  only  eighteen/'  said  Vassall,  with  a  smile. 

"And  yet  I  know  more  than  many  a  woman  of 
twenty-eight." 

"You  are  scarcely  out  of  school." 

"My  school  has  been  there,"  she  said,  pointing  to 
the  long,  gray  house,  now  visible  upon  its  terraced  hill. 

"In  one's  own  home — "  Vassall  began. 

"  There  are  many  lessons,"  she  interrupted,  "  and  I've 
learned  them  all.  There  are  some  things  about  which 
there  isn't  much  left  for  me  to  know.  If  I  entered  the 
convent  to-day,  it  would  be  with  no  illusions  whatever 
about  the  life  I  was  leaving  behind." 

"There  is  an  age  at  which  we  all  feel  that." 

"With  me  it  is  no  question  of  age.  I  have  never 
been  young,  not  any  more  than  Tristram  is  young. 
They  tell  us  that  young  people  shouldn't  know  what 
we  know.  How  can  we  be 'ignorant  when  we  see  the 
things  we  see  and  hear  the  things  we  hear.  There 
was  a  time,  so  my  grandmother  de  Bohun  says,  when 
children  were  innocent.  If  so,  it  was  in  the  days  when 
parents  were  reticent.  How  can  we  be  young  when 
our  father  and  mother  live  apart?  Of  course  there  is 
a  reason  for  their  doing  so,  and  how  can  we  not  guess 
what  that  reason  is?" 

"  But  it  is  just  here  that  young  people's  guesses  are 
so  likely  to  be  wrong." 

"How  can  we  go  wrong  when  we  have  listened  all 
our  lives  to  the  table-talk  of  people  like  the  Duchess  of 
Ambleside  and  Madame  de  Prony  and  Major  Bertie, 
and  others  whom  it  was  an  indiscretion  merely  to  allow 
us  to  know?  Only  on  Thursday  Tristram  and  I  went 

181 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

over  with  mother  to  lunch  at  Keston  Castle.  They 
talked  of  Lord  and  Lady  Yorkshire  and  Mr.  Amos; 
and  do  you  suppose  we  didn't  understand?  The  very 
winks  and  nods  with  which  they  reminded  each  other 
that  there  were  two  young  people  at  the  table  empha 
sized  the  points  we  ought  not  to  have  perceived.  Tris 
tram  is  fifteen.  He  is  at  a  school  where  the  other  boys 
bring  from  their  homes  as  much  improper  information 
as  he  picks  up  in  his.  He  is  naturally  a  good  boy. 
He  has  a  keen  moral  sense  and  something  very  ster 
ling  in  his  nature.  He  hates  all  this — this  impropriety. 
It  revolts  him.  But  the  boys  at  his  school  make  a  joke 
of  it,  and  he  is  growing  to  do  it  too.  Oh,  Uncle  Harry, 
do  use  your  influence  with  mamma  to  let  me  go  into 
the  convent." 

"  I  will  talk  of  it  with  her,  if  you  like,  but  you  couldn't 
take  any  such  step  for  a  long  while  to  come." 

"  I  should  be  willing  to  wait  if  only  I  had  the  hope  of 
one  day  being  free." 

"You  call  that  being  free?  I  should  say  it  was 
bondage." 

"Yes,  I  know  how  you  feel.  But  you  haven't  lived 
my  life,  Uncle  Harry.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to 
love  your  parents  without  being  able  to  respect  them." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  try  not  to  judge  your 
elders  more  than  you  can  help?" 

"  I  do  try.  I  know  my  father  is  good.  I  know  mam 
ma  is  good.  And  yet — " 

"And  yet  what?". 

"I  don't  know.  There  is  something  very  wrong, 
though  I  cannot  say  what  it  is.  I  feel  it  here.  I  know 
it.  I  live  in  it.  But  when  you  ask  me  to  define  it,  it 
escapes  me.  It  is  like  the  necklet  mother  gave  me  this 
morning.  It  was  kind  of  her.  She  did  it  because  she 
loves  me.  And  yet  I  can  never  wear  it." 

182 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"You  must  wear  it.  Your  mother  would  be  hurt 
if  you  didn't." 

"I  never  could,  Uncle  Harry.  It  would  sting  me. 
I  should  feel  as  if  I  were  wearing  shame." 

"I  think  you  exaggerate,  Hippolyta." 

"Nothing  could  exaggerate  what  I  should  feel. 
Didn't  you  hear  Tristram  say  how  mamma  paid  for 
it?  She  didn't  pay  for  it.  Mr.  Lechmere  and  Major 
Bertie,  and  so  many  others,  paid  for  it." 

"But  public  opinion  recognizes  gambling." 

"I  don't,"  she  said,  proudly.  "If  you  had  seen, 
as  I  saw,  not  a  month  ago,  when  we  were  last  at 
Claridge's,  Mrs.  Tredelly  biting  her  lip  to  keep  back 
the  tears  when  she  lost  I  don't  know  how  much 
money,  after  she  had  been  to  dinner  with  mamma; 
if  you  had  heard,  as  I  heard,  Mr.  Hartley  Payne  go 
cursing  away  from  the  hotel  because  he  too  had  lost 
more  than  he  could  afford,  you  would  know  why  I 
would  wear  drops  of  blood  or  beads  of  fire  round 
my  neck  rather  than  the  pearls  their  money  paid 
for." 

Vassall  glanced  again  at  the  girl.  She  still  walked 
on  with  head  erect ;  but  a  deep  spot  of  scarlet  was  burn 
ing  on  each  cheek.  He  had  too  much  sympathy  with 
her  point  of  view  to  dare  to  counsel  her. 

"I  think  your  mother  would  be  hurt  if  you  didn't 
wear  the  necklace,"  he  repeated. 

"I  couldn't,"  she  replied,  and  he  said  no  more. 

In  the  afternoon,  between  tea  and  dinner,  he  found  an 
opportunity  to  confide  to  his  wife  something  of  what 
Hippolyta  had  said  in  the  morning. 

"Those  nuns  have  turned  her  head,"  Petrina  com 
mented.  "Perhaps  it  isn't  unnatural  at  her  age;  but 
of  course  it  will  pass.  She  will  feel  differently  after  she 
is  presented  and  begins  to  go  out  a  bit.  I  am  afraid, 

183 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Harry,  that  she  has  something  of  the  Vassal  1  tendency 
towards  self -righteousness." 

"  If  so,  it  flourishes  on  very  stony  ground/'  he  replied, 
with  a  slight  flush.  "I  can't  imagine  how  any  one 
could  live  in  the  surroundings  in  which  poor  Hippolyta 
has  grown  up  and  yet  remain  self-righteous.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  has  a  sense  of  always  touching 
pitch—" 

"  And  of  therefore  being  denied.  That  is  only  her 
inexperience.  As  one  grows  older  one  learns  how  to 
toss  that  sticky  substance  from  hand  to  hand,  and  yet 
keep  clean." 

"  I  know  that  women  think  so  nowadays,  but  it  is  a 
very  dangerous  game." 

"That  is  what  makes  it  so  diverting.  A  sportsman 
like  you  must  know  the  excitement  of  risk ;  and,  socially 
speaking,  there  is  no  risk  without  something  risque." 

"I  am  not  of  your  opinion,"  he  said,  moodily. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  laughed,  "that  is  one  of  the 
things  I  like  about  you?  You're  immensely  impressive 
as  a  man.  Nobody  ever  forgets  you  or  passes  you  by. 
And  yet  you  are  as  prudish  as  an  old  maid — only  that 
old  maids  aren't  prudish  any  longer.  They're  often 
the  very  worst.  The  things  I've  heard  them  tell  would 
make  your  hair  stand  on  end.  But  that's  what  I  like. 
Your  hair  would  stand  on  end ;  while  that  of  most  people 
wouldn't." 

"What  nonsense!" 

"Not  a  bit.  It's  a  fact.  You  still  keep  something 
of  the  bloom  on  the  peach,  and  that's  so  rare.  I  wouldn't 
for  anything  have  you  hear  some  of  the  stories  told  in 
Princess  Hans's  smoking-room.  And  when  we  go  back 
to  Boston  Mrs.  Bowdoin  Somerset's  beer-and-cheese  re 
ceptions  on  Sunday  nights  will  startle  you." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  go  to  themT' 

184 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

"  Yes,  dear ;  and,  please  God,  you  will  too.  Oh,  there's 
the  dressing-bell.  Poor  Hippolyta!  If  she  doesn't 
wear  the  thing,  there  will  be  trouble.  Look  here,  Harry. 
Go  away  and  let  me  dress.  I'll  do  it  quickly.  Then  I 
shall  go  to  her.  I  am  sure  I  could  talk  her  into  reason." 

The  task  was  difficult,  but  Petrina's  confidence  in 
herself  was  justified.  When  she  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  a  little  late  for  dinner,  Hippolyta  was  at  her  side. 
The  girl  wore  the  string  of  pearls.  Her  downcast  eyes 
and  look  of  shame  passed  for  the  shyness  incidental  to  a 
first  real  dinner  dress. 

"Petrina  made  me  see  the  matter  differently,"  she 
whispered  to  Vassall  as  they  went  in  to  dinner.  "I 
was  wrong  in  setting  my  own  judgment  up  above 
mamma's." 

At  table  the  company  fell  naturally  into  pairs — Petrina 
and  Lechmere,  Hippolyta  and  Vassall,  Lady  de  Bohun 
and  Major  Bertie. 

"  So  Orpington  Park  is  to  give  another  beauty  to  the 
county,"  Bertie  remarked  as  they  took  their  places; 
he  smiled  towards  Hippolyta  as  he  spoke. 

"  All  the  girls  are  beauties  where  Major  the  Honorable 
Gerald  Bertie  goes  to  dine,"  Hippolyta  replied,  with  a 
toss  of  the  head. 

"Doubtless,"  he  retorted.  "But  among  the  Ama 
zons,  Hippolyta  alone  was  queen." 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake,  Gerald,  don't  be  mythological," 
Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  beginning  to  eat  her  soup. 

"It's  so  fatiguing  on  the  day  of  rest,"  Lechmere 
drawled.  "  That's  the  worst  of  a  Saturday  to  Monday 
at  Bertie's.  One's  mind  gets  no  sabbatical  repose." 

"Living  with  the  clever,"  Petrina  observed,  "is  like 
living  with  the  rich.  In  trying  to  keep  their  pace  one 
goes  beyond  one's  means." 

"I've  found  it  so  at  Bertie's,"  Lechmere  rejoined. 

185 


Let    Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"And  the  effort  to  keep  up  is  killing,  especially  on  a 
Sunday/' 

"What  is  there  about  a  Sunday/'  Petrina  asked, 
"which  makes  one  feel  so  much  more  wicked  than  one 
does  on  a  week-day?" 

"And  unconventional,"  added  Lechmere. 

"It's  the  same  thing/'  said  Bertie.  "Virtue  is  only 
long-standing  convention.  Vice  is  only  its  trans 
gression." 

"Exactly,"  Petrina  assented.  "But  the  taste  for  it 
always  seems  to  be  strongest  on  Sundays.  If  there  is 
anything  canaille  in  one's  nature — " 

"And  there  always  is,"  Bertie  declared. 

"It  is  called  forth  on  a  Sunday  evening,"  Petrina 
pursued. 

"Like  this,"  Lechmere  interposed. 

"Like  this,"  Petrina  repeated,  "as  at  no  other 
time.  During  the  week  one  is  content  to  be  decently 
decolletee  and  to  drink  champagne.  On  Sunday  one 
wants — " 

"  To  be  indecently  decolletee  and  to  drink  absinthe," 
Bertie  finished. 

"I  wasn't  going  to  say  that,"  Petrina  laughed.  "I 
was  thinking  chiefly  of  Mrs.  Bowdoin  Somerset's  beer- 
and- cheese  receptions  on  Sunday  nights  in  Boston, 
of  which  my  husband  and  I  were  speaking  before  din 
ner.  Somehow  they  suit  a  Sunday  night.  One  would 
never  think  of  going  to  such  a  thing  on  a  week-night. 
One  wears  a  high  dress  and  a  hat,  and  one  meets  all 
kinds  of  actors  and  German  musicians  and  a  sort  of 
literary  tag-rag-and-bobtail  who  seem  made  to  fall  in 
with  one's  humor  on  the  Lord's  Day.  One  eats  bread- 
and-cheese, and  drinks  beer  (and  I  hate  beer,  as  a  rule!), 
as  though  there  were  something  sanctified  in  the  diet. 
Then  one  goes  home  feeling  that  one  has  passed  an 

186 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

edifying  Sunday  evening.      As   a  matter  of  fact,  it  is 
rather  low — " 

"For  a  refined  person  that's  its  charm/'  said  Lech- 
mere. 

"Yes,  but  why?"  Petrina  insisted.  "On  a  week-day 
vulgarity  is  detestable.  Why,  then,  on  Sunday?" 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Vassall,  there  you  touch  on  one  of  the 
deepest  mysteries  of  existence,"  Bertie  sighed,  senten- 
tiously.  "The  best  of  us  have  a  taste  for  something 
bad;  the  sweetest  of  us  a  craving  for  something  acid. 
It  gives  our  life  a  flavor,  like  the  slice  of  lemon-peel  in  a 
cocktail.  You  can't  explain  it,  any  more  than  you 
can  explain  why  a  man  who  has  a  lovely  and  cultivated 
wife  should  neglect  her  for  some  vulgar — " 

"Gerald,"  said  Lady  de  Bohun,  severely,  "don't 
forget  that  Hippolyta  is  at  the  table." 

"  You  don't  really  see  what  I  mean — "  Petrina  began. 

"No,  dear;  but  I  do,"  Lady  de  Bohun  interrupted. 
"Petrina  means  this,"  she  went  on,  with  a  comprehen 
sive  glance  around  the  company.  "  Granted  that  there 
is  something  of  the  devil  in  us  all,  why  should  it  seize 
the  Lord's  Day  more  than  any  other  day  on  which  to 
show  itself?  I  understand  her  perfectly.  It  is  simply 
because  it  is  the  Lord's  Day.  It  is  just  like  the  desire, 
which  I  suppose  every  woman  has,  to  tempt  St.  Anthony. 
It's  because  it  is  St.  Anthony.  If  he  were  any  one  else, 
one  wouldn't  care.  I  never  see  a  bishop,  especially  a 
celibate  one,  without  wanting  to — " 

Lady  de  Bohun  caught  her  brother's  eye  and  stopped. 

"  Without  wanting  to — ?"  asked  Bertie.  "  We  are  all 
attention." 

"Without  wanting  to  discuss  with  him  the  Apostoli 
cal  Succession.  You  thought  I  was  going  to  say  some 
thing  else,  didn't  you,  old  Father  Time?"  she  added,, 
looking  at  Vassall. 

187 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"I  was  thinking  less  of  you  than  of  Hippolyta,"  he 
answered. 

"I'm  used  to  it,  Uncle  Harry,"  the  girl  whispered. 

"And,  by  Jove  1  you've  got  some  excuse,"  cried  Ber 
tie.  "It's  a  case  of  filia  pulchra,  even  if  it's  mater 
pulchrior." 

"She  does  look  nice,  doesn't  she?"  Lady  de  Bohun 
commented,  as  though  her  daughter  were  not  there. 

"How  delightful  it  is,"  said  Petrina,  "to  be  Hippol- 
yta's  age  and  look  as  she  does  in  a  white  muslin  frock 
that  can't  have  cost  ten  pounds!" 

"And  yet,"  Lechmere  said,  softly,  in  Petrina's  ear, 
"  the  flower  in  blossom  is  more  beautiful  than  that  in 
the  bud.  Your  frock  must  have  cost — " 

"Fifty  pounds,"  said  Petrina. 

"  But  then  there  is  more  than  fifty  times  the  charm." 

"Do  you  know  what  I  should  like?"  she  said,  letting 
her  voice  fall,  and  speaking  for  him  alone.  "  I  should 
like  to  have  our  acquaintance  pass  out  of  the  stage  of 
giving  and  receiving  compliments  and  come  into  that 
where  one  talks  mind  to  mind." 

"That  is,  you  are  offering  me  your  friendship." 

"If  you  care  to  have  it." 
•  "  If  I  told  you  how  much  I  do  care — " 

"You  needn't  do  that.  That  is  a  thing  best  left  to 
be  divined." 

"  I  understand  you.  Love  has  a  golden  speech,  but 
friendship  a  golden  silence.  Very  well,  then.  We  are 
friends." 

"Good  friends,"  said  Petrina,  looking  him  in  the 
eyes.  She  was  sorry  for  him.  She  noticed  how  much 
older  he  looked  than  when  they  had  last  met.  His  dark 
hair  was  already  slightly  silvered. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lechmere.  "One  of  these  days 
you  may  see  how  much  I  need  you." 

188   " 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"What  are  you  two  muttering  about?"  cried  Lady 
de  Bohun,  turning  away  from  Bertie.  "  Dick,  I  am  in 
the  act  of  giving  the  devil  his  due,  and  I  want  to  com 
plete  the  operation.  I  have  just  been  telling  Gerald 
the  share  he  has  had  in  the  handsome  birthday  pres 
ent  I  have  been  able  to  give  my  daughter.  Look  at 
that  row  of  pearls.  They  didn't  come  from  the  French 
Diamond  Company  in  the  Burlington  Arcade.  They 
will  bear  inspection  by  the  expert.  They  cost  me  just 
eight  hundred  pounds.  If  I  hadn't  lost  that  two  hun 
dred  at  Winkfield  Abbey — well,  we  won't  talk  about 
that.  It's  too  sore  a  subject.  The  loss  is  poor  Hippol- 
yta's  more  than  mine.  However,  Dick,  your  contri 
bution  was  just  fifty-eight  pounds,  ten  shillings.  I've 
kept  an  accurate  account  ever  since  I  first  began  to 
save  my  poor  winnings  for  this  happy  day." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  never  spent  fifty-eight  pound  ten 
so  well  in  my  life  before,"  Lechmere  murmured,  look 
ing  across  the  table  at  Hippolyta. 

The  girl  sat  confused  and  speechless,  using  all  her 
self-control  to  resist  the  impulse  to  tear  the  thing  from 
her  neck  and  fling  it  from  her. 

"Be  brave,"  V assail  whispered,  under  cover  of  the 
conversation.  "Your  mother  doesn't  understand." 

"  I  know  "  she  whispered  in  return,  biting  her  lips 
to  keep  back  the  tears.  "  But  you  can  see  how  I  have 
learned  my  lessons  about  life." 

"We  will  have  the  coffee  in  the  card-room,"  said 
Lady  de  Bohun,  at  the  end  of  dinner.  "I  am  sure  you 
men  would  rather  come  with  us  there  than  be  left  to 
gether  here." 

"It  would  be  a  privilege,"  said  Bertie. 

"  And  what  shall  we  play?"  Lady  de  Bohun  asked, 
with  a  glance  around.  "We're  too  many  for  bridge." 

Vassall  looked  across  the  table  at  his  wife. 

189 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"I  think  we  will  not  play  to-night,  Emmy/'  he  said, 
significantly. 

"You  mean  Hippolyta  and  you,"  Petrina  interposed, 
quickly.  "Very  well.  That  will  make  us  just  four, 
so  that  it  can  be  bridge." 

As  she  spoke  she  did  not  take  her  eyes  from  his. 
Vassall  knew  that  her  words  implied  a  challenge.  He 
curbed  his  impulse  to  speak,  and  rose  with  the  rest. 

"  Let  us  go  out  on  the  terrace,"  Hippolyta  murmured, 
taking  her  uncle's  arm,  while  Lady  de  Bohun  and 
Petrina,  followed  by  Bertie  and  Lechmere,  swept  out 
of  the  room.  "  I  don't  want  any  coffee." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Vassall.  "Let  us  go  out  and  listen 
for  a  nightingale." 

The  card-room  at  Orpington  Park  was  an  after 
thought  on  the  part  of  the  late  Sir  Tristram  de  Bohun, 
Sir  Humphrey's  father.  It  was  a  little  pavilion  at  the 
extreme  eastern  end  of  the  mansion.  It  had  windows 
on  all  sides,  and  was  reached  through  the  conservatory. 

The  night  wras  hot,  and  the  windows  were  open.  As 
Vassall  and  Hippolyta  paced  the  terrace  they  could 
see  the  light  streaming  outward  and  hear  the  sounds 
of  laughter.  They  talked  of  the  possibility  of  the 
girl's  going  to  America  with  her  uncle  and  spending 
the  winter  with  her  grandmother  in  Old  Cambridge. 

As  they  walked  up  and  down  they  instinctively 
turned  on  their  steps  before  they  reached  the  pavil 
ion.  Growing  more  interested  in  the  idea  of  the  visit, 
thej1"  ceased  to  note  the  exact  direction  they  were  tak 
ing.  Suddenly  they  found  themselves  beneath  the 
open  windows  of  the  card  -  room,  with  the  view  of 
those  within.  The  four  were  seated  at  a  table  on 
which  were  cards  and  counters.  They  were  not  play 
ing.  The  men  had  drinks  before  them.  Lady  de 
Bohun  and  Petrina  were  smoking  cigarettes.  Hip- 

190 


Let   Not   Man    Put    Asunder 

polyta  was  so  accustomed  to  the  sight  that  she  won 
dered  at  her  uncle's  sharp  exclamation  of  surprise. 
She  wondered  still  more  as  he  turned  quickly  away 
and  in  a  harsh  voice  bade  her  go  in,  as  though  she 
were  still  a  child. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"GOOD -NIGHT/'  said  Petrina,  hurrying  into  the 
boudoir  which  separated  her  room  from  her  husband's. 
"  I'm  longing  for  my  bed.  Tobacco  always  makes  me 
sleepy." 

Vassall  looked  up  from  his  book.  He  was  reading 
beside  a  small  table  on  which  a  lamp  was  burning. 
Petrina  was  radiant,  her  color  heightened,  her  eyes 
sparkling.  The  evening  had  excited  her.  Vassall's 
absence  from  the  card-room  had  taken  a  restraint  from 
the  talk,  which  had  not  gone  beyond  the  limits  of  clever 
innuendo,  and  yet  had  been  amusing.  While  glad  that 
her  husband  had  not  been  there,  she  was  concious  of  a 
certain  irritation  at  his  inability  to  hold  his  own  among 
those  whom  she  called  "people  of  the  world." 

As  she  looked  at  him  now  in  his  careless  dress  of  the 
late  evening  —  his  hair  disordered,  his  shirt -bosom 
rumpled,  and  his  cravat  awry — she  9ould  not  help  com 
paring  his  negligence  with  the  starched  correctness  of 
the  men  who  had  just  gone  back  to  Keston  Castle. 
Bertie  was  metropolitan ;  Lechmere,  cosmopolitan ;  Vas 
sall,  undeniably  provincial. 

"Don't  go  yet,"  he  said,  putting  aside  his  book;  "I 
want  to  talk  to  you.  Sit  down  a  minute." 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Harry,  put  your  cravat  straight," 
she  said  with  a  yawn,  sinking,  as  she  spoke,  into  an 
arm-chair.  "  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  be  the  sort  of 
man  who  sits  with  his  feet  on  the  table  because  there 
is  no  one  present  but  his  wife." 

192 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Vassall  looked  at  her  gravely,  trying  to  conceal  his 
anger.  His  disapproval  of  the  conversation  at  dinner 
had  been  followed  by  annoyance  at  the  scene  in  the 
card-room.  This  had  in  turn  given  way  to  indignation 
that  Petrina  should  have  so  ignored  the  principles  of 
propriety  and  good  taste.  He  had  tried  to  recover  his 
temper  by  burying  himself  in  a  book,  and  had  almost 
succeeded  when  Petrina 's  hurried  entry  and  prompt 
good-night  stirred  again  not  only  his  unquenched  anger 
but  a  little  latent  jealousy  as  well. 

"Is it  straight  now?"  he  said,  meekly,  pulling  at  his 
cravat. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.  If  you  would  only  have  a  valet, 
like  any  other  man — " 

"  Fm  not  used  to  a  valet.  Very  few  men  of  my  posi 
tion  in  Boston  are." 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Harry,  can  you  never  get  out  of  that 
groove?  I  didn't  marry  you  to  keep  you  in  your  posi 
tion,  but  to  put  you  in  mine." 

Petrina  regretted  the  words,  but  they  were  spoken. 

"In  yours?"  he  said,  coldly.  "What  is  yours?  The 
only  position  you  have,  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  is  that  of 
my  wife.  And  in  future — " 

"Yes,  Harry?    In  future—?" 

"  I  shall  ask  you  to  be  more  worthy  of  it  than  you  have 
been  to-night." 

She  sat  upright.  Her  face  grew  white — as  white  as 
the  whiteness  of  her  bosom  against  the  blackness  of 
her  dress. 

"How  insolent  you  provincial  people  are!"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I  have  noticed  it  in  your 
mother." 

"We  will  leave  my  mother  out  of  the  discussion. 
The  question  is  not  of  her  duty,  but  of  yours." 

With  a  great  effort  she  regained  her  self-command. 

193 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me  I  will  go  now/'  she  said,  rising. 
"I  don't  want  you  to  say  what  you  will  be  sorry  for." 

"Sit  down,  Petrina,"  he  ordered,  sternly,  not  moving 
from  his  own  seat. 

She  obeyed  him. 

"  If  you  insist  on  speaking,  of  course  I  must  hear  you/' 
she  said,  with  constraint.  "  But  I  ask  you  to  remember 
that  I  am  not  a  forgiving  person.  I  am  not  accustomed 
to  insult." 

"Look  here,  Petrina,  my  darling/'  he  began,  in  an 
other  tone,  leaning  forward  and  attempting  to  take 
her  hand. 

"By-the-by,  Harry,"  she  interrupted,  skilfully  moving 
her  hand  beyond  his  reach,  "  while  I  think  of  it,  let  me 
ask  you  not  to  treat  me  to  so  many  endearing  epithets. 
They  are  awfully  bourgeois.  Among  people  of  our  world 
they  are  as  out  of  date  as  snuff.  Now,  will  you  go  on, 
please?" 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  slowly  waved  her 
large  black  fan. 

"  What  I  want  to  say  is  this.  You  and  I  are  simple 
New  England  people,  with  simple  New  England  ways." 

"Granted,"  she  admitted,  languidly.  "But  there  is 
maniere  et  maniere  of  being  simple,  just  as  one  man's 
New  England  may  not  be  another's." 

"  We  have  certain  conventions  and  certain  principles 
and  certain  prejudices — " 

"  A  qui  le  dites-vous  ?"  she  sighed. 

"And  I  cannot  think  it  right  for  either  you  or  me — " 

"  Suppose  you  were  to  follow  your  ideas  of  right  and 
leave  me  to  follow  mine?  Wouldn't  that  be  liberty  of 
conscience?" 

"  A  man  can  hardly  live  like  that  with  his  wife.  He 
is  responsible — " 

"WThat  a  dangerous  word." 

194 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"Responsible  for  her  actions  as  the  guardian  of  his 
honor — " 

"Oh,  la,  la!" 

"  And  he  is  bound  to  see  that  she  conducts  herself  in  a 
manner  consistent  with  his  dignity  and  her  own." 

"Mr.  Lechmere  and  I,"  she  began,  assuming  a  tone 
of  cordial  discussion,  "  have  just  been  talking  of  that 
very  thing.  Now  his  ideas — " 

"I  am  not  interested  to  know  them/'  Vassall  broke 
in,  sharply.  "  I  care  only  that  you  should  attend  to 
mine."  A  sudden  pang  of  jealousy  loosened  what  was 
left  of  his  self-restraint. 

"  But  you're  so  prosy,"  Petrina  laughed,  with  an 
affectation  of  composure.  "  And  I'm  dying  with  sleep. 
Mr.  Lechmere  is  such  a  good  talker — " 

"I'm  sorry  that  I  cannot  be  as  interesting  as  he; 
therefore  I  shall  be  brief  and  to  the  point." 

"Thanks." 

"  Then  let  me  say  that  I  object  to  your  indifference 
towards  great  moral  ideas  which  we  are  brought  up 
to  respect." 

"We?"  she  questioned,  with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  I  object  to  your  disregard  for  a  day  which  we  are 
brought  up  to  revere." 

"You  are  quite  forensic,  Harry.  One  would  think 
that  you  were  addressing  a  jury." 

"  I  object,  above  all,  to  the  covert  indecency  of  the  con 
versation  you  permit  yourself  and  others  to  carry  on." 

"Really,  Harry,  your  language  is  most  archaic.  If 
you  want  to  talk  about  indecency — " 

"Don't  mock  at  what  I  say,  Petrina!" 

"  I  ?  Surely  I  am  taking  you  as  seriously  as  if  your 
words  deserved  attention.  My  courtesy  is  such  that  I 
haven't  left  you  and  gone  to  bed.  Most  other  women 
in  my  place — " 

195 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"  Would  not  have  given  me  the  ground  of  complaint 
I  have  against  you.  Most  other  women  in  your  place 
would  not  have  spent  Sunday  evening  in  smoking  and 
playing  cards." 

"Really  nice  women  would,  as  Emmy  might  say. 
You  see,  Harry,  you  don't  know  your  world.  You  are 
so  narrow  and  illiberal  and  spiritually  puffed-up  that 
you  don't  realize  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  progress. 
You're  so  Hebraic  that  you're  still  back  in  the  times  of 
Abraham  and  Sarah.  Of  course,  I  knew  that  when  I 
married  you,  but  I  didn't  think  you  were  going  to 
prove — " 

"Such  a  tyrant?"  he  said,  with  a  forced  smile  and 
with  a  new  effort  to  turn  the  current  of  the  conversation 
from  one  of  bitterness  into  that  of  banter. 

"  Oh,  no.  Not  at  all.  I  don't  say  that  you  are  a  ty 
rant.  A  tyrant  must  be  strong. " 

"Only  a  just  and  constitutional  king,  then?"  He 
rose,  and,  standing  above  her,  tried  again  to  take  her 
hand. 

" I  should  hardly  say  that." 

"  What,  then?    What  am  I?" 

"Well,  nothing  in  particular.  In  marrying  you  I 
gave  you  privileges,  but  I  never  meant  to  confer  rights. 
Sit  down,  Harry,  please.  Let  me  give  you  my  point  of 
view." 

"  Haven't  we  talked  enough  for  to-night?" 

He  tried  to  speak  good-naturedly. 

"  Not  quite,  for  I  want  to  say  a  word  on  my  side.  I 
have  borne  your  conversation  with  good  temper,  be 
cause  I  see  that  I  have  brought  you  into  a  society 
where  you  have  still  much  to  learn.  You  are  a  less 
intelligent  pupil  than  I  expected  you  to  be,  but  I  can 
be  patient." 

"  Then  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  can,"  he  cried,  with  renewed 

196 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

irritation.     "Look  here,  Petrina;  I  know  your  society 
through  and  through,  and  I  find  it  putrid." 
"  This  is  no  question  of  what  you  find — " 
"  It  is  a  society  which  puts  evil  for  good,  and  darkness 
for  light,  and  bitter  for  sweet,  and  whose  only  cleverness 
is  in  its  skill  in  turning  the  straightforward  into  para 
dox." 

"  If  that  is  your  opinion  of  modern  society — " 
"  I  am  not  speaking  of  modern  society.     I  am  speak 
ing  only  of  one  of  its  smallest,  noisiest,  and  nastiest 
sections — the  section  which  Emmy — " 
"And  I." 

"  Not  you — which  Emmy  appears  to  think  the  only 
one  worthy  of  a  thought  in  London,  Paris,  or  New  York. 
It  is  metropolitan  only  in  being  mixed ;  it  is  cosmopolitan 
only  in  confusing  the  characteristic  differences  between 
races,  and  putting  the  hybrid  in  the  place  of  the  pure. 
The  French  liberty  of  speech  which  such  women  as 
Emmy — " 
"And  I." 
"Affect—" 

"Don't  you  think  that  your  use  of  the  word  French 
is  rather  narrow?  In  an  Englishman  it  would  be  in 
sular  ;  in  an  American  it  can  only  be  a  little — you  must 
excuse  the  word — a  little  underbred." 

"I  think  I  can  correct  you  on  both  those  points." 
"Correction  is  a  weakness  of  yours,  isn't  it?" 
"When  I   say  that   Emmy's    license   of   speech   is 
French  I  use  the  proper  adjective.     Only  I  know  why 
it  is  French  and  Emmy  doesn't.     She  is  one  of  the 
women  who  show  their  cultivation  by  being  able  to 
read  Octave  Mirbeau  and  Pierre  Louys  and  Madame 
Marni,  and  who — " 

"Don't  hesitate  to  include  me  among  them." 
"I  do  include  you.     I  should  not  have  ventured  to 

197 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

name  these  authors  in  your  presence  had  I  not  seen 
their  productions  lying  on  your  table/' 
"You  have  read  them,  of  course?" 
"Until  they  made  me  rather  sick." 
"You  can  spare  me  your  physical  symptoms." 
"  You  find  that  offensive  because  I  speak  in  English. 
That  is  precise^  the  point  I  am  coming  to.     You  cannot 
graft  Gallic  freedom  of  expression  upon  our  Anglo- 
Saxon  instinct  for  restraint.     It  is  the  point  of  which 
Emmy  and  her  friends  are  ignorant.      There  are  many 
things  possible  to  say  with  decency  in  French  which 
in   English   become   gross.     There   are   many   things 
which  a  Frenchwoman  can  talk  of  with  perfect  pro 
priety,  but  which  on  the  lips  of  an  English  or  American 
woman  are  little  short  of  foul." 

"You  seem  to  be  wonderfully  versed  in  the  subject." 
"I  am.     One  has  to  be.     The  deterioration  of  our 
women,  English  and  American  alike,  obliges  us  men 
to  seek  the  cause." 

"  And  you  find  it  in— ?" 

"God  be  thanked,  in  ignorance  rather  than  in  evil." 
"You  are  fond  of  that  word  ignorance." 
"  Not  fond,  but  only  forced  to  use  it.     The  women  of 
the  world  to  which  you  say  you  belong  have  just  the 
little  knowledge  which  is  dangerous.     I  take  Emmy 
as  an  illustration — " 
"Why  not  take  me?" 

"I  prefer  Emmy.  She  feeds  her  mind  on  the  worst 
of  French  light  reading,  and  fancies  that  it  is  French 
literature.  She  fills  her  head  with  tales  of  marital  in 
fidelity,  and  calls  it  French  morality.  She  talks  fluent 
ly  of  the  cocu  and  the  cocotte,  and  thinks  she  is  speaking 
of  French  society.  She  is  ignorant  of  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  great  and  noble  France  of  which  she  will  not 
read  a  word  in  the  pages  of  Gyp  or  Guy  de  Maupassant." 

198 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"  When  you  say  Emmy,  of  course  you  mean  me.  I 
want  you  to  make  that  point  clear." 

"  I  mean  a  large  number  of  the  young  American  and 
English  women  of  the  upper  classes  of  the  present  day. 
They  try  to  be  chic,  but  only  cease  to  be  charming. 
They  try  to  be  original,  but  only  become  coarse.  They 
try  to  be  progressive,  but  only  succeed  in  going  back 
to  the  grossness  of  Tristram  Shandy  and  Tom  Jones. 
There,"  Vassall  broke  off  with  a  laugh.  "  You  thought 
you  were  going  to  escape  a  Sunday  sermon,  but  it  has 
overtaken  you  even  at  the  eleventh  hour." 

"And  I've  been  the  text,"  said  Petrina,  looking  down 
ruefully  at  her  hands,  and  then  glancing  up  at  him, 
with  an  air  of  penitence. 

He  took  her  hand  again,  and  this  time  it  was  not  with 
drawn.  So  the  threatened  storm  passed  by,  and  a  little 
later  they  said  good-night. 

But  at  the  door  of  her  own  room  Petrina  turned. 
Vassall  stood  looking  after  her.  She  was  moved  by  a 
sudden  impulse  which  came  she  knew  not  whence. 

"'The  little  rift  within  the  lute/  "  she  quoted. 

"Oh,  Petrina,  don't  say  it,"  he  cried,  taking  a  step 
forward,  his  hands  outstretched  as  if  in  pleading. 

" '  The  little  rift  within  the  lute,' "  she  repeated,  deliber 
ately,  but  with  her  sphinx-like  smile,  "'which  by-and- 
by  may  make  the  music  mute. ' ' 

Then  she  closed  the  door  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  MILESTONE  is  reached  in  married  life  when  hus 
band  and  wife  recognize  the  limitations  to  what  each 
can  expect  from  the  other.  "When  Vassall  and  Petrina 
met  on  Monday  morning  both  were  aware  of  some 
thing  more  precise  in  their  relations.  It  was  as  if  that 
around  which  there  had  been  a  golden  aureole  had  be 
come  defined  by  the  daylight.  With  the  first  moment 
face  to  face  there  was  a  consciousness  that  some  of 
their  romance  was  gone.  In  their  mutual  regard  there 
was  not  less  love,  but  there  was  less  illusion.  They 
had  parted  at  night  with  the  kiss  of  reconciliation, 
but  they  met  in  the  morning  in  a  spirit  of  silent 
strife.  Petrina  was  too  positive  to  admit  his  claim  to 
be  master;  Vassall  too  certain  that  he  was  right  to  be 
able  to  concede. 

So,  with  their  return  to  London,  a  life  of  drawing 
apart  began.  She  was  determined  to  impose  her  tastes, 
he  to  carry  out  his  principles.  When  he  yielded  to  her, 
it  was  without  willingness.  When  she  deferred  to  him, 
it  was  without  grace. 

Soon  they  passed  another  milestone.  It  was  when 
they  found  that  there  was  no  satisfaction  in  making 
concessions  to  each  other.  Then  Petrina  began  to  go 
her  way,  Vassall  his.  They  spent  their  time  more 
pleasantly,  but  each  was  moved  by  some  resentment 
towards  the  other  because  they  were  apart. 

"It  will  be  different,"  Vassall  said  to  himself,  "  when 
we  return  to  Boston.  There  our  life  will  be  spent 

200 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

quietly,  and  she  will  lose  the  taste  for  all  this  noise  and 
show." 

"When  we  return  to  Boston/'  Petrina  mused,  "and 
begin  ourselves  to  entertain,  he  will  see  things  from 
another  point  of  view.  He  will  understand  that  what 
he  thinks  vanity  is  duty,  and  that  what  he  calls  fri 
volity  is  life." 

"  I  never  see  Mr.  Vassall  now,"  the  Duchess  of  Am- 
bleside  complained,  when  Petrina  met  her  one  evening 
at  the  Foreign  Office.  "I  hear  he's  quite  an  early 
Christian.  That  must  be  so  bad  for  him.  Why  doesn't 
he  go  about  more?" 

"I  wish  you  would  take  him  in  hand,  Duchess." 

" But  I'm  simply  dying  to." 

"I'm  sure  he'd  go  anywhere  if  he  thought  you'd  be 
there." 

"Then  tell  him  to  come  to  tea  at  Lady  Yorkshire's 
to-morrow  afternoon.  I  shall  be  there  at  five  precisely. 
Tell  him  he'll  find  me  in  that  little  annex  to  her  draw 
ing-room,  where  hardly  any  one  ever  goes.  I'll  make 
an  excuse  for  sitting  in  there  alone.  I'll  say  I  have  a 
sudden  palpitation  of  the  heart.  I  do  have  'em  some 
times,  especially  when  I've  eaten  radishes." 

"I'll  tell  him,  Duchess,  and  if  anything  can  arouse 
him,  I  know  that  will." 

But  Vassall  did  not  go  to  Lady  Yorkshire's.  While 
the  Duchess  was  calming  her  agitated  heart  in  the  an 
nex,  Vassall  and  Petrina  were  closeted  with  Sir  Hum 
phrey  de  Bohun  at  his  chambers  in  Pall  Mall  for  the 
discussion  of  grave  family  affairs. 

"Come  to  me  at  once  at  Claridge's,"  Lady  de  Bohun 
had  telegraphed  that  morning  to  Petrina,  who  obeyed 
the  summons  promptly. 

She  found  Emilia  prostrated,  but  pretty,  in  a  white 
lace  robe,  with  one  big  bow  ending  in  long,  filmy 

201 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

streamers  of  shaded  reds,  fastened  at  her  breast.  She 
was  lying  on  a  sofa  in  a  little  sitting-room. 

"I've  done  it,"  she  gasped,  as  Petrina  entered.  "I've 
taken  the  step." 

"  What  step,  dear?"  Petrina  asked,  as  she  kissed  her 
sister-in-law. 

"The  divorce.  I've  told  Sir  Charles  Freeman  to  go 
on  with  it.  They  were  to  serve  something  on  Hum 
phrey  this  morning,  poor  fellow.  T  don't  know  what 
it  is,  but  they  said  they'd  serve  it/ 

Petrina  looked  grave,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of 
the  sofa,  holding  the  while  Emilia's  hand. 

"Does  Hippolyta  know?" 

"Nothing  yet.  She  mustn't  be  iold  till  I  get  my 
decree  nisi,  whatever  that  is.  She's  nere  in  town  with 
her  grandmother  in  Cromwell  Road.' 

"And  Tristram?" 

"Safe  at  Dr.  Babbington's.  He  needn't  know  for  a 
long  time — not  until  Gerald  and  I — " 

"Then  you  are  sure — ?" 

"Oh  yes.     That's  all  right.     I  know  he  means  it." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  haven't  committed  myself.  As  things  are,  he  has 
bound  himself  and — " 

"Left  you  free?" 

"Of  course,  Petrina  dear,  my  position  is  extreme 
ly  delicate.  I  couldn't  become  engaged  to  one  man 
as  long  as  I  am  married  to  another?  Now,  could 
I?  Reginalda  de  la  Pole  did  it,  and  I  know  it's 
common  in  America;  but  one  has  to  draw  the  line 
at  something,  and  I  do  it  there.  He's  given  me 
this,"  she  added,  drawing  from  the  bosom  of  her 
dress  a  ring  fastened  on  a  long  gold  chain.  "  I 
told  him  I  couldn't  wear  it,  but  that  I'd  just  keep  it 
here." 

202 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"  But  you've  accepted  it  from  him.  That  must  mean 
that  you — " 

"Oh,  I  suppose  I'm  coming  to  it,  dear.  It's  a  good 
deal  to  face,  but  I'm  getting  used  to  the  idea.  It's  of 
the  children  I  think.  He's  so  fond  of  children!  And 
it  will  be  good  for  Tristram  to  have  a  father." 

"But  there's  Humphrey." 

"  I  mean  a  real  father,  dear — a  real,  paternal  father ; 
not  one  who's  made  himself  talked  of  with  half  the 
Lucy  Fitzalans  and  Hetty  Viennes  in  London." 

"But  you  told  me  yourself  that  Major  Bertie  had 
compromised  a  lot  of  people." 

"  My  head  aches,  dear.  Don't  let  us  talk  about  such 
dreadfully  deep  things  this  morning.  Let  me  tell  you 
why  I've  asked  you  to  come.  I  want  you  to  do  some 
thing  for  me." 

"Anything,  dear  Emilia." 

"Yes;  I  knew  you  would.  Well,  it's  Harry  and 
mother;  you  see  I've  got  to  consider  them  to  some 
extent.  I  wouldn't  for  anything  ignore  their  feelings 
in  so  important  a  matter." 

"  But,  considering  how  they  feel,  I  don't  see  how  you're 
going  to  reconcile  them  to  it." 

"  Nor  I,  quite.  But  there's  no  one  who  can  manage  it 
so  well  as  you,  dear.  You  must  break  the  news  to 
Harry,  and  he  must  put  it  as  gently  as  he  can  to  mother. 
Oh,  dear !  I  know  they'll  make  a  fuss ;  just  as  if  I  hadn't 
enough  to  bear.  They're  so  terribly  behindhand  in 
their  ideas.  They're  back  in  the  Middle  Ages.  And 
even  then  people  were  divorced.  There  was  Henry  the 
Eighth,  and  lots  of  others  that  I  could  look  up  if  I 
had  an  encyclopaedia.  Even  Milton  wrote  in  favor  of  it. 
But  I  want  you  to  go  back  and  tell  him.  Tell  him  how 
I  have  struggled  against  it,  until  my  wrongs  cry  out 
to  Heaven  for  redress.  Don't  prejudice  him  against 

203 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

Humphrey,  though.  I  know  you  won't  do  that.  But 
just  make  him  feel  that  I've  suffered  right  up  to  the 
verge  of  endurance;  and  that  Humphrey  has  been  not 
so  much  wicked  as  weak.  Make  it  all  as  moral  as  you 
can,  because  that's  the  joint  in  their  harness — morality 
is.  I'm  sure  you'll  know  how  to  do  it,  dear;  you've 
so  much  tact.  Quote  the  nineteenth  chapter  of  St. 
Matthew  at  them.  You  can  give  it  a  twist  that  will 
make  it  just  suit  my  case.  Don't  say  anything  about 
Gerald — at  least  not  yet.  We  must  feed  them  with 
milk,  you  know,  and  not  with  meat.  That's  in  the 
Bible,  too.  I  feel  sure,  dear  Petrina,  that  I  can  leave 
it  all  safely  in  your  hands." 

"  It  goes  without  saying,  Emmy,  that  I  will  do  every 
thing  in  my  power.  To  whom  should  you  turn  at  such  a 
crisis  rather  than  to  me?  Even  if  I  didn't  approve — " 

"Which  you  do,  don't  you?" 

"I  can't  be  wholly  sure  of  that;  but  even  if  I  didn't, 
I  should  stand  by  you." 

"  You're  such  a  treasure  to  me,"  Lady  de  Bohun  said, 
tenderly  pressing  Petrina's  hand.  "I  shall  never  for 
get  your  kindness;  and  if  ever  you  want  to  do  any 
thing  like  this,  you  will  be  able  to  count  on  my  help, 
as  I  have  on  yours.  It's  true  that  it's  early  yet  in  your 
married  life,  and  Harry  is  a  saint;  but  if  it  should 
happen — " 

The  baffling  smile  was  on  Petrina's  lips  as  she  in 
terrupted  her  sister-in-law  and  rose  from  the  border  of 
the  couch. 

"  I  ought  to  go  back  to  the  hotel  now,"  she  said ;  "  then 
I  can  get  it  over  by  telling  Harry  at  luncheon." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

To  Petrina's  surprise,  Vassall  himself  opened  up 
the  subject  as  soon  as  the  waiter  had  left  them  alone 
at  table. 

"I  suppose  I  know  the  motive  of  your  errand  to 
Emmy,"  he  said.  "I've  just  had  a  note  from  Hum 
phrey.  He  wants  us  to  go  round  to  his  chambers  this 
afternoon  to  confer  with  him.  Have  you  any  other 
engagement?" 

"  None  that  I  can't  put  off.     So  he  knows?" 

"Apparently.  He  doesn't  write  as  if  he  were  taken 
by  surprise." 

"  He  could  hardly  be.     But  you,  Harry?" 

"Not  more  than  Humphrey,  I  suppose.  With  a 
woman  of  Emmy's  character,  one  must  always  be  pre 
pared  for  the  unexpected." 

"  She  asked  me  to  break  it  to  you  gently ;  but  I  see  the 
blow  has  fallen  less  heavily  than  I  feared.  I  fancied, 
after  the  things  you  have  said  on  the  subject  of  di 
vorce — " 

"One  modifies  one's  views  as  one  grows  older,"  Vas 
sall  remarked,  with  a  queer  smile. 

"  But  you  haven't  had  time  to  grow  much  older  since 
we  last  talked  of  it." 

"  There  are  crises  when  we  count  by  experience  rath 
er  than  by  years." 

Petrina  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"Does  that  mean  that  our  own  marriage  has  disap 
pointed  you?" 

205 


Let   Not  Man    Put   Asunder 

"The  very  question  is  an  injury/'  he  replied,  with  a 
laugh.  "  But  I  suppose  it  is  only  the  married  who  know 
how  serious  a  thing  marriage  is.  No  one  can  realize 
beforehand  the  meaning  of  a  permanent  community  of 
life." 

"Of  course  not,  if  you  look  at  it  in  that  light.  But 
you  know  it  isn't  modern.  To  us  marriage  is  a  tem 
porary  co-operation  rather  than  a  permanent  commu 
nity.  I  could  never  have  married  if  I  thought  other 
wise,  not  any  more  than  I  could  have  taken  the  lifelong 
vows  of  a  nun." 

Petrina  spoke  deliberately,  and  was  surprised  that 
Vassall  did  not  resent  her  speech. 

"  I  used  to  think  that  there  ought  to  be  no  loop-hole. 
Now—" 

"Now,"  Petrina  laughed,  "you  begin  to  see  that  the 
day  may  come  when  you  will  be  glad  enough  to  find 
one." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  give  my  words  so  personal  an 
application." 

"Women  can  never  argue  in  the  abstract,  Harry. 
They  must  be  personal,  or  they  can't  enjoy  the  talk. 
But  I  am  glad  that  you  admit  that  marriage  isn't  neces 
sarily  binding." 

"I  don't  admit  anything.  I  say  only  that  lately  I 
have  reviewed  my  own  ideas,  and  I  am  not  quite  so 
sure  as  I  used  to  be.  That's  all." 

"I've  been  looking  up  the  nineteenth  chapter  of  St. 
Matthew.  We  are  told  there  that  there  was  a  time  when 
even  Moses  suffered  a  man  to  give  his  wife  a  writing  of 
divorcement." 

"But  it  was  only  for  the  hardness  of  men's  hearts." 

"Hearts  are  always  hard,  Harry.  They  are  cer 
tainly  not  softer  now  than  they  were  in  the  days  of 
Sinai.  But  my  point  is  this,  that,  even  accepting  the 

206 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Christian  view  of  things,  marriage  is  an  institution 
regulated  by  a  law  which  can  be  changed  from  time  to 
time  according  to  human  needs.  In  one  age  it  is  monog 
amous,  in  another  it  is  polygamous.  In  one  it  is  for 
life ;  in  another  if  may  be  ended  by  a  writing  of  divorce 
ment." 

"  But  the  Church  has  decreed — " 

"  You' forget  that  marriage  existed  before  the  Church." 

"And  the  needs  of  civilized  society  demand — " 

"Marriage  is  older  than  civilized  society." 

"That,  for  the  sake  of  the  family—" 

"I  know  what  you're  going  to  say;  but  the  family 
can  be  protected  in  more  ways  than  one.  I  repeat  that 
my  point  is  this,  that  never  since  the  world  began  has 
marriage  been  a  hard-and-fast  relation  in  which  change 
or  termination  was  impossible.  In  the  Christian  Script 
ures  it  is  a  very  vague  condition,  and  varies  with  the 
needs  of  different  generations.  I  contend,  therefore,  that 
what  was  permitted  for  the  hardness  of  men's  hearts 
in  the  time  of  Moses  ought  not  to  be  denied  to  the  equal 
hardness  of  men's  hearts  to-day." 

And  yet  Petrina  felt  it  binding  on  her  to  assume  an 
attitude  of  gentle  reproof  when  she  arrived  at  Sir  Hum 
phrey  de  Bohun's  chambers,  later  in  the  afternoon. 

"Well,  Humphrey,"  she  said,  as  she  shook  hands, 
"  this  is  a  great  pity ;  but  if  there  is  anything  that  we 
can  do — " 

The  baronet  smiled,  and  ordered  his  man  to  bring  in 
the  tea. 

In  a  little  while  the  three  were  discussing  the  arrange 
ments  to  be  made  for  the  comfort  of  Lady  de  Bohun  and 
her  children.  Vassall  could  not  but  be  satisfied  with 
his  brother-in-law's  liberality. 

"It's  a  beastly  nuisance  that  the  newspapers  have 
got  hold  of  it,"  Sir  Humphrey  said,  taking  his  cup  from 

207 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Petrina.     "How  they  learn  such  things  the  Lord  only 
knows." 

"We  haven't  seen  anything/'  Vassall  said,  wonder 
ing;  "nor  heard  anything." 

"No,  I  suppose  not/'  Sir  Humphrey  went  on,  "but 
no  doubt  you  soon  will.  It's  in  a  penny  rag  called 
F^nglish  Society.  Yes,  that  blue -covered  thing,"  he 
added,  as  he  saw  Petrina's  glance  fall  upon  it.  "The 
Duchess  of  Ambleside  sent  it  to  me  with  a  note  this 
morning." 

"  Well,  I  never!"  Petrina  exclaimed,  as  she  looked  at  a 
paragraph  marked  in  red  pencil.  "'We  understand/  ' 
she  read  aloud,  "'that  another  social,  sensation  is 
promised  in  the  action  for  divorce  to  be  brought  by 
the  wife  of  a  well-known  baronet,  whose  country  seat 
is  not  a  thousand  miles  from  Orpington,  in  Kent.  The 
lady  in  question  is  one  of  the  prettiest  and  wittiest  of 
the  American  women  who  gave  an  exotic  flavor  to 
London  life,  while  the  co-respondent  is  said  to  be  a 
charming  young  actress  at  the  Charing  Cross  Theatre. 
Her  name  resembles  that  of  one  of  the  great  capitals 
of  Europe/' 

"Disgusting!"  commented  Sir  Humphrey.  "The 
way  one's  private  affairs  get  into  the  newspapers — " 

Vassall  glanced  for  himself  at  the  paragraph  and 
said  nothing. 

"That  kind  of  thing  blows  over/'  said  Petrina.  "If, 
when  everything  is  settled,  you  were  to  go  abroad  for 
a  month  or  two — " 

"I  shall  go  to  America,"  Sir  Humphrey  explained, 
as  he  sipped  his  tea.  "  That  will  give  Emmy  a  chance 
to  get  used  to  the  new  conditions;  and  when  I  come 
back  I  shall  be  able  to  fall  more  easily  into  them, 
too." 

"Perhaps  you  could  come  with  us,"  Petrina  sug- 

208 


Let   Not   Man   Put  Asunder 

gested.     "We  sail  on  the  Calabria  the  first  week  in 
September." 

"Even  if  I  don't,  you  will  be  good  to  me  when  I  get 
there,  I  hope?" 

"Couldn't  you  come  with  us  straight  to  Faneuil 
Hill?"  Petrina  asked.  "I'm  sure  you'd  enjoy  it,  even 
though  there's  no  sport. " 

"Thanks,"  replied  Sir  Humphrey,  and  Petrina 
thought  she  detected  an  embarrassment  in  his  air. 
"But  I've  already  promised  the  Tyrells  to  spend  Sep 
tember  with  them  at  Lenox. " 

"You'll  like  that,"  Petrina  remarked,  not  taking  her 
eyes  from  his.  "And,  by-the-way,  I  see  you  have  a 
new  picture  of  Gentian." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  going  to  the  mantel-piece  and  taking 
the  photograph  down.  "It's  good,  isn't  it?" 

Petrina  glanced  significantly  at  Vassall. 

They  were  still  commenting  on  Miss  Tyrell's  por 
trait  and  pose  when  Sir  Humphrey's  man  came  in 
again. 

"The  young  lady  is  'ere,  sir,"  he  said.  "Shall  I  ask 
her  to  come  up?" 

"  Young  lady?"  stammered  Sir  Humphrey,  reddening. 
"  Not  Miss— "' 

"Yes,  sir.  I  told  'er  you  was  engaged — very  per- 
tic'lar  engaged,  I  said." 

"Well,  then?" 

"She  said  she'd  wait,  sir.  Lady  Constance  is  to 
call  for  her  in  the  carriage  in  'alf  an  hour." 

"Oh,  then,  it's  not  Miss—?" 

"No,  sir,"  the  man  cried,  with  horrified  emphasis. 
"I  'ope,  sir,  you  know  as  I'd  'a'  had  more  tack  than 
to  announce  before  company  any  one  who — " 

Petrina  laughed.  Sir  Humphrey  breathed  more 
freely. 

o  209 


Let   Not   Man   Put    Asunder 

"Show  Miss  de  Bohun  up,"  he  ordered. 

"Well,  Polly/ 'he  cried,  as  Hippolyta  entered.  "This 
is  a  pleasant  surprise." 

The  girl  looked  bewildered  as  she  saw  Vassall  and 
Petrina. 

"I  thought  you  were  alone/'  she  began.  "Other 
wise  I  shouldn't  have  come." 

"But  your  uncle  and  aunt,  Polly,  scarcely  count." 

"No,  no,"  she  stammered,  confusedly.  She  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  and  looked  helplessly  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  Sir  Humphrey  inquired, 
anxiously.  "Are  you  ill?" 

"  No,  no, ' '  she  repeated.     "  Not  ill— only- 

"Only  what,  dear?"  Petrina  asked,  rising  and  com 
ing  forward.  "Can  I  help  you?" 

"No,  no,"  Hippolyta  murmured  again,  as  though  un 
conscious  of  what  she  said. 

"Shall  we  go  away?"  Petrina  questioned.  "Would 
you  like  to  see  your  father  without  your  Uncle  Harry 
and  me?" 

"No;  it  doesn't  matter — now,"  she  answered,  still 
speaking  dreamily.  "I  see,"  she  added,  turning  tow 
ards  Vassall,  who  sat  with  the  blue-covered  copy  of 
the  cheap  social  journal  in  his  hand,  "I  see  you've 
got  one,  too." 

"What  does  this  mean,  Hippolyta?"  Sir  Humphrey 
cried,  sternly,  beginning  to  take  alarm. 

"  Papa,  Tristram  sent  me  this,"  she  burst  out,  drawing 
a  second  blue-covered  paper  from  her  pocket. 

"This?  This?"  he  blustered.  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  this?" 

"That!"  she  said,  promptly,  pointing  to  the  copy  in 
Vassall's  hand.  "  You  know  what  it  is.  You've  been 
reading  it.  You've  been  talking  about  it." 

210 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"My  dear  child/'  Sir  Humphrey  began,  in  a  reason 
ing  tone. 

"  Is  it  true?"  she  demanded. 

"Is  what  true?     Is  it  true  that  your  mother  has — ?" 

"No,  not  that.  Is  the  rest  of  it  true?  Is  it  true 
that—?" 

"My  dear  little  girl/'  Vassall  broke  in,  coming  for 
ward  and  taking  her  hand.  "  You  can  trust  me,  can't 
you?" 

"I  don't  know,  Uncle  Harry,"  she  replied,  in  a  hard 
voice.  "Until  I  know  whether  or  not  this  is  true — " 

"Don't  you  know,"  Vassall  continued,  "how  impos 
sible  it  is  for  people  in  the  position  of  your  father  and 
mother  to  keep  their  names  out  of  the  pages  of  the  press?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  aware  of  that.  I've  often  seen  their  names 
there  before,  but  not  like  this.  Is  it  true?" 

"Papers  like  this  live  by  lies,  dear,"  Petrina  said, 
taking  the  girl's  other  hand. 

She  freed  herself  impatiently. 

"Then  is  this  a  lie?"  she  insisted.  "You  needn't 
explain  to  me  if  it  isn't  true.  I  am  ready  to  believe 
anything  you  tell  me.  Papa  dear,  will  you  answer  me? 
What  is  the  use  of  all  this  mystery?" 

"  How  on  earth  did  Tristram  come  by  such  a  sheet 
as  that?"  the  father  demanded,  angrily.  "  I  shall  pun 
ish  him  severely." 

"  It  wasn't  his  fault,  papa.  A  boy  at  his  school  gave 
it  to  him  and  pointed  out  the  paragraph." 

"It's  perfectly  indecent  that  boys  of  that  age — " 
Sir  Humphrey  began  again. 

"Oh,  there  isn't  anything  they  don't  know,  papa. 
They  hear  it  at  home.  Little  George  Magnaville  re 
peats  to  Tristram  all  the  gossip  that  he  listens  to  at 
his  father's  —  Lord  Yorkshire's,  you  know;  and  the 
Duke  of  Ambleside's  son  does  the  same.  It  really  isn't 

211 


Let   Not    Man   Put  Asunder 

Tristram's  fault,  papa  dear.     But  if  you'll  only  say  it 
isn't  true  I  can  write  to  assure  him  that  you — " 

"  Upon  my  soul,  things  have  reached  a  pretty  pass 
when  a  girl  like  you — " 

"Oh,  I,  papa!  Don't  think  of  me.  If  only  it  isn't 
true—" 

"It's  a  scandal  that  a  mere  child  of  eighteen  should 
catechise  her  father  on  a  subject  like  this." 

"I'm  not  a  child,  papa.  I'm  a  woman.  If  I  know 
all  this  it  is  because  no  one  ever  shielded  me." 

"I  think,  dearest,"  said  Petrina,  "that  if  you'll  come 
away  with  me  I  can  explain  everything  to  you  better 
than  if  we  were  not  alone." 

"  I  don't  ask  for  explanations,  Petrina.  My  question 
is  one — " 

"Which  you  have  no  right  to  put,"  Sir  Humphrey 
burst  out,  furiously.  "  Have  you  no  shame,  Hippolyta?" 

"Shame,  father  1"  the  girl  cried,  with  flaming  cheeks. 
"  Do  you  talk  to  me  of  shame?  Is  it  no  shame  that  you 
and  my  mother  live  like  strangers?  Is  it  no  shame 
that  she  is  taking  other  men's  money,  while  other  women 
are  taking  yours?  Is  it  no  shame — ?" 

"  Be  quiet,  Hippolyta,"  Vassall  said  in  her  ear.  "  You 
are  saying  more  than  you  have  a  right  to  say." 

"  I  know  what  I'm  speaking  of,' Uncle  Harry.  But  I 
didn't  come  here  to  talk  of  it.  I  came  to  ask  a  question, 
and  no  one  will  give  me  an  answer." 

"That  a  daughter  should  put  such  a  question  to 
her  father,"  said  Sir  Humphrey,  "is  beyond  all  be 
lief." 

"  You  have  only  to  say  no,  papa,  and  I  will  go  away. 
Surely  it  is  a  simple  thing.  Is  there  such  a  person  as 
this — this  actress?  Have  you — ?" 

"  Hippolyta,  I  forbid  you  to  go  on.  I  never  dreamed 
that  a  child  of  mine  should  come  to  this." 

212 


Let   Not   Man   Put    Asunder 

"  That's  how  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  on  the 
children/'  she  returned. 

"The  fathers  can  answer  for  their  own  sins,"  Sir 
Humphrey  asserted,  trying  to  take  an  injured  tone. 

"But  the  children  have  to  bear  them/'  the  girl  de 
clared. 

"  Bear?"  he  cried.  "  What  have  you  ever  had  to  bear? 
Haven't  I  given  you  a  luxurious  home?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"  And  every  worldly  advantage?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"  And  allowed  you  to  have  your  own  way?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Then  what  more—?" 

"Oh,  much  more,  papal  There's  something  better 
than  all  the  things  you've  named ;  and  we've  never  had 
it.  We  crave  it.  Tristram  craves  it.  I  crave  it.  Even 
little  baby  Humphrey  knows  he  doesn't  get  it." 

"  Then  I  give  it  up,"  Sir  Humphrey  said,  impatiently. 
"  Run  away,  Hippolyta,  and  learn  to  be  a  sensible,  obe 
dient  girl  who  doesn't  meddle  with  what  doesn't  concern 
her." 

"Doesn't  concern?"  she  cried,  taking  a  step  nearer 
him,  and  holding  out  the  blue-covered  journal.  "Do 
you  mean  that  a  story  like  this,  in  which  my  father's 
name  is  dragged  in  the  mire,  doesn't  concern  me?  Pray, 
then,  whom  does  it  concern?  Does  it  concern  mamma? 
Does  it  concern  Tristram?  Does  it  concern  you?  Does 
it  concern  this  lady  —  this  charming  young  actress? 
Oh,  father,  you  don't  know  what  you're  saying.  I  am 
your  daughter.  The  foulness  tfyat  bespatters  you  be 
spatters  me.  You  may  try  to  separate  your  life  from 
mine,  but  I  can  never  separate  mine  from  yours.  I 
bear  your  name.  I  carry  the  stamp  of  your  features 
in  my  own." 

213 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Hippolyta,  dear,"  Petrina  interrupted,  "you  are 
growing  excited." 

"Don't  stop  me,  Petrina.  I  demand  what  I  have  a 
right  to  know.  Once  more,  father — " 

"  What  good  will  it  do  you  to  be  told  the  truth?"  Vas- 
sall  asked,  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "  Why  not  be 
advised  by  those — " 

"I  have  a  right  to  know,  Uncle  Harry.  And  if  the 
truth  is  that  all  this  is  nothing  but  a  lie — !  Oh,  it 
must  be  that!  Say  so,  father.  Say  so,  Petrina. 
Why  do  you  keep  me  pleading  and  panting  here? 
Don't  you  see  that  I'm  breaking  down?  Father,  I 
don't  ask  much.  You  know  how  Tristram  loves 
you.  You  know  how  in  his  heart  he  thinks  there  is 
no  one  in  the  world  like  you.  And  I  think  so.  We've 
been  so  proud  of  you,  father,  even  when  you  and 
mother  don't  agree.  Tell  me,  papa,  tell  me  that  it 
isn't  true.  Why  don't  you  speak?  Why  doesn't 
some  one  speak?  It's  so  easy  to  say.  Just  a  word, 
and  yet  you  stand  there  looking  at  me  as  if  you  were 
all  dumb—" 

"Dear,  dear  Hippolyta,  come  with  me/'  Petrina  cried, 
throwing  her  arms  about  the  girl.  "Come  into  the 
next  room.  I  can  tell  you  everything  in  a  way  that 
you  will  understand." 

"No,  no,  Petrina.  I'll  go  when  papa  says  it  isn't 
true.  Papa !  Papa !  it  is  true !  You're  turning  white. 
It  is  true.  Uncle  Harry,  take  me  away.  I  want  to  go 
down  into  the  street,  to  get  into  the  air.  No,  I  can't  go 
just  yet.  Let  me  sit  down.  Is  there  a  fan  anywhere?" 

She  sank  into  a  chair.  For  a  minute  she  kept  her 
self-control.  Then,  with  face  bowed  into  her  hands, 
she  burst  into  sobs. 

But  Sir  Humphrey  could  hold  out  no  longer.  What 
ever  pure  love  was  in  his  nature  was  for  his  "little 

214 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

Polly/'  as  he  called  her.  Dropping  on  one  knee  be 
side  her  chair,  he  threw  his  arms  about  her. 

"It  isn't  true.  It  isn't  true/'  he  murmured.  "You 
can  say  so  to  Tristie.  It  isn't  true." 

"Was  there  ever  a  more  useless  lie?"  Vassall  whis 
pered  to  Petrina.  "Before  many  weeks  are  over  .she 
will  know  it's  true." 

"We  must  try  to  shield  her  from  it,"  Petrina  whis 
pered  in  return.  "We  must  take  her  out  of  England." 


CHAPTER  IX 

"I  THINK  I  had  better  go  and  see  Emmy/'  Petrina 
said  next  morning.  "  I  shall  probably  lunch  with  her. 
Do  you  mind?" 

"I  have  some  errands  that  will  take  me  out/'  Vas- 
sall  replied.  "  I'll  drop  you  at  Claridge's,  and  then  go 
and  do  them.  Are  you  dining  anywhere?  Or  shall 
we  meet  here?" 

"  We  can  dine  together,  but  I  thought  of  going  after 
wards  to  Mrs.  Poynter's  party  at  Ambleside  House.  I 
half  promised  the  Duchess  to  try  and  bring  you,  too. 
Won't  you,  Harry?  Just  for  once,  for  her  sake!" 

"If  you'd  said  for  your  sake — " 

"I  do  say  it — for  my  sake.  Ever  since  yesterday 
afternoon  at  Humphrey's  I  have  a  dread  of  letting  you 
out  of  my  sight." 

He  was  pleased  and  kissed  her.  Then  they  drove  to 
Claridge's. 

Later  in  the  morning  Vassall  met  his  brother-in-law 
in  Bond  Street.  Sir  Humphrey  looked  tired  and  old. 

"I  say,  old  man,"  he  said,  taking  Vassall's  arm, 
"  let's  go  and  lunch  together  at  Prince's.  I  don't  want 
to  go  to  a  club.  They've  already  begun  to  tell  my  story. 
It's  wonderful  how  a  little  scandal  makes  one  a  target 
for  every  other  sinner's  scorn." 

At  table  Sir  Humphrey  was  out  of  spirits. 

"I'd  be  awfully  obliged  if  you  and  Petrina  would 
take  Polly  out  of  England  for  a  week  or  two,"  he  re 
plied,  in  answer  to  a  suggestion  from  Vassall.  "  She's 

216 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

never  been  to  Paris,  and  the  change  of  scene  would 
divert  her.  I  don't  know  how  much  she  believed  of 
what  I  told  her  yesterday  afternoon,  but  when  you  had 
gone  away  she  braced  up  a  bit,  and  we  parted  friends. 
But,  good  Lord,  what  times  we  live  in,  when  a  man  is 
called  to  book  for  his — his — his — " 

"Yes,  I  understand/'  said  Vassall. 

"By  a  daughter  of  eighteen.  It's  the  beastly  pry 
ing  press,  that's  what  it  is.  There's  no  more  privacy; 
there  are  no  more  children ;  precious  soon,  if  the  divorce 
mill  grinds  on,  there  will  be  no  more  wives." 

"There  will  always  be  Miss  Hetty  Viennes." 

"  And  may  the  devil  take  'em.  I've  washed  my  hands 
of  that  lot.  .  The  hussy's  got  me  into  a  pretty  mess, 
when  my  own  children  hale  me  to  their  judgment-seat. 
There's  Tristram,  fifteen  years  old.  How  am  I  ever 
going  to  look  him  in  the  face  again?  I'm  blowed 
if  I  don't  think  I  could  bring  an  action  for  damages 
against  that  blue-covered  rag.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is, 
Harry;  as  soon  as  this  cursed  business  is  over  I'm  go 
ing  to  hook  it.  I'm  going  to  boil  myself  at  some  hole 
of  a  foreign  bath,  and  then  I'll  cut  over  to  America. 
I've  already  promised  Lechmere  to  go  with  him  to  do 
a  cure  for  a  complaint  I  haven't  got,  and  it's  just  to 
hide  myself  from  Hippolyta  and  Tristram.  Gad,  if  it 
was  Emmy,  it  would  be  another  thing.  But  that  a 
man  shouldn't  be  able  to  turn  to  the  right  or  the  left 
— especially  to  the  left — without  thinking  of  his  own 
children,  it's  unnatural;  it's  inhuman;  and  I'm  damned 
if  I  don't  think  it's  hard." 

Vassall  went  on  with  his  lunch  in  silence. 

"  A  pretty  pair  we  shall  make,  Lechmere  and  I,"  Sir 
Humphrey  began  again,  as  he  hastily  swallowed  his 
food.  "  Gad,  it  makes  me  laugh.  Two  worn-out  grass- 
widowers,  keeping  each  other  company,  while  our  wives 

217 


Let   Not  Man   Put   Asunder 

that  used  to  be — but,  by  the  Lord,  Harry,  look.  Look 
over  there.  Well,  speak  of  the  devil!  If  it  isn't  our 
wives  that  used  to  be — Lechmere's  and  mine — forming 
a  group  on  their  side." 

Vassall  looked  up  hurriedly.  Madame  de  Prony, 
tall  and  willowy  like  a  girl,  dressed  simply  in  gray, 
was  crossing  the  great  room  to  a  table  in  a  corner. 
After  her  walked  Lady  de  Bohun,  brisk  and  smiling, 
nodding  to  friends  as  she  passed  them  by.  And  then, 
at  a  little  distance,  came  Petrina — slowly  and  gravely, 
bowing  too,  as  she  caught  sight  of  acquaintances  here 
and  there. 

"They  haven't  seen  us,"  Sir  Humphrey  remarked, 
indifferently.  "But  I  say,  old  fellow,  what's  up?"  he 
inquired,  as  he  looked  at  Vassall. 

"Nothing,  nothing." 

"You're  a  bit  white  about  the  gills." 

"It's  nothing,"  Vassall  repeated,  with  an  effort  to 
master  himself.  "  A  touch  of  indigestion,  perhaps.  I'll 
take  a  fine  champagne  with  the  coffee.  I  shall  be  all 
right  in  a  minute. 

"I  don't  think  we  need  trouble  those  ladies,"  Sir 
Humphrey  remarked  when  he  had  paid  his  bill.  "  Em 
my  knows  I  hate  to  have  her  seen  with  the  de  Prony. 
I'm  not  particular,  Heaven  knows,  but  I  pause  at  Mrs. 
Richard  Lechmere.  By  the  way,  they  say,  she's  tre 
mendously  in  debt,  and  that  it  isn't  as  easy  as  it  used 
to  be  to  find  fools  to  pay.  Her  voice  isn't  keeping  its 
promise,  either.  She's  been  singing  out  of  tune  the 
whole  season.  It's  doubtful,  even,  whether  she's  taken 
on  another  year  at  Covent  Garden,  in  spite  of  all  the 
pull  she's  got  and  the  fuss  that's  been  made  about  her. 
And  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  it,  Harry,  old  boy, 
I  wouldn't  let  Petrina  make  a  friend  of  a  lady  whose 
name — " 

218 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Oh,  Petrina's  all  right,"  Vassall  said,  testily,  as  he 
rose. 

"Well,  if  I'd  ever  had  as  much  control  over  my  wife 
as  you  have  over  yours,  she  wouldn't  be  hobnobbing 
with  Felicia.  It  isn't  the  thing — you  may  take  my 
word  for  it — " 

But  Vassall  was  already  out  of  hearing  on  his  way 
towards  the  door. 

The  brothers-in-law  parted  in  Piccadilly. 

"Hope  you'll  be  better  soon,"  Sir  Humphrey  said 
as  they  shook  hands.  "  If  it's  indigestion,  let  me  advise 
you  to  take,  about  six  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  a 
good,  stiff  glass  of  Hun — " 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,  Humphrey,  thanks,"  said  Vassall 
as  he  turned  away. 

He  was  glad  to  find  himself  alone.  That  Petrina 
should  have  disregarded  his  wishes  on  a  point  on  which 
he  felt  so  strongly  wounded  him  to  the  quick.  He 
scarcely  knew  how  he  ought  to  think  or  what  attitude 
he  ought  to  take. 

Turning  westward,  he  walked  along  Piccadilly  to 
Hyde  Park  Corner.  He  took  the  direction  aimlessly, 
moved  only  by  the  desire  to  calm  by  physical  action 
the  agitation  of  his  mind  and  nerves.  On  he  went 
through  Knightsbridge,  into  the  Park,  across  Ken 
sington  Palace  Gardens,  back  again  into  Kensington 
High  Street,  through  Earl's  Court  to  Brompton  Road, 
along  St.  George's  Place  to  Constitution  Hill,  and  then, 
skirting  the  grounds  of  Stafford  House  and  Clarence 
House,  into  Pall  Mall,  and  so  to  the  Carlton  House 
Hotel.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  not  walk  far  enough,  nor 
fast  enough,  nor  long  enough. 

When  he  reached  home  Petrina  was  already  dressing 
for  dinner.  The  meal,  served  in  their  own  apartments, 
was  a  silent  one.  It  was  not  until  the  carriage  was 

219 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

announced,  and  Petrina,  cloaked  for  going  out,  stood 
fastening  her  gloves,  that  the  matter  which  was  in 
both  their  minds  was  touched  upon.  Vassall  was  de 
termined  not  to  speak  of  it  till  she  did. 

" Harry, before  we  go,"  she  said,  "I've  something  to 
say.  I  lunched  with  Madame  de  Prony  to-day." 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me?"  he  asked,  coldly. 

"  I  didn't  like  her.  I  thought  you  might  care  to  know. 
But  since  apparently  you  don't — " 

"There  is  something  that  I  do  care  for  very  much, 
Petrina." 

Instantly  she  felt  the  touch  of  the  whip.  She  held 
her  head  high,  and  her  nostrils  quivered,  but  she  spoke 
in  a  tone  of  indifference. 

"Really?  Well,  you  can  tell  me  some  other  time, 
because,  I  think,  now  we  ought  to  go." 

"I  care,"  said  Vassall,  taking  no  notice  of  her  words, 
"  that  before  you  next  appear  in  public  with  a  notorious 
and  disreputable  woman — " 

"I  don't  think  I  like  listening  to  things  of  that  sort," 
she  said,  haughtily,  moving  towards  the  door. 

"  You  shall  listen  to  what  I  think  right  to  say  to  you," 
he  said,  putting  himself  between  the  door  and  her. 
"You  are  my  wife." 

"Yes,"  she  interposed,  speaking  very  distinctly, 
"  I  am  your  wife  for  the  time  being.  But  if  you  insist  on 
taking  that  tone  to  me — " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  went  on  fastening 
her  gloves.  When  the  task  was  finished  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  his. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked,  tranquilly.  "You 
look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 

"  I  have,"  he  said,  with  a  composure  equal  to  her  own, 
"  the  ghost  of  a  woman  whom  I  thought  living,  but  who 
is  dead." 

220 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

"Or  who  never  lived,  perhaps." 

"You  are  right,  Petrina.  I  think  the  woman  Fve 
thought  I  saw  never  did  live." 

"Would  you  mind  taking  my  fan?"  she  said.  "It's 
so  difficult  to  carry  it  and  to  hold  my  dress." 

He  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  she  passed  out. 

"Thanks,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  as  he  followed  her. 


CHAPTER  X 

BEFORE  the  summer  was  over  Lady  de  Bohun's 
divorce  had  been  made  absolute. 

It  had  been  managed  quietly,  and  there  had  been  com 
paratively  little  scandal.  The  fact  that  there  was  no 
defence,  and  that  the  other  Iad37  in  the  case  was  a  "  pro 
fessional"  person,  negatived  what  is  commonly  called 
"  sensation/'  The  closest  of  all  earthly  ties  was  broken 
with  an  ease  which  seemed  to  both  husband  and  wife 
incredible.  They  found  it  hard  to  realize  that  they  were 
free. 

When  Sir  Humphrey  received  the  intelligence,  he 
went  home  to  his  chambers,  locked  the  door,  threw 
himself  face  downwards  on  his  bed,  and  sobbed.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  done  so  since  his  father's 
death ;  but  the  strain  of  the  past  two  months  had  un 
nerved  him,  and  nineteen  years  of  married  life  had 
meant  more  to  him  than  he  supposed.  Then  he  arose, 
washed  his  face,  recurled  his  mustache,  put  on  a  new 
suit  from  Poole's,  and  went  out  to  begin  his  life  all  over 
again. 

Lady  de  Bohun  was  at  Orpington  Park  when  the 
decision  was  made  known  to  her.  She  took  it  with  a 
hard  little  laugh,  and  then  sat  down  to  accept  her  in 
vitations  to  the  North.  She  hummed  while  she  wrote, 
and  wondered  what  Humphrey  would  say. 

Petrina  and  Vassall  had  kept  Hippolyta  on  the  Con 
tinent.  She  saw  no  English  papers,  and  heard  no 
news  but  what  was  written  her.  In  Tristram's  scrawled 

222 


Let  Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

letters  there  was  not  a  word  of  either  father  or  mother. 
Before  leaving  England  Vassall  had  gone  down  to 
Eton  to  see  the  boy  at  his  school,  and  to  explain  the 
coming  divorce  with  as  much  gentleness  as  he  could 
assume.  The  little  man  accepted  the  fact  with  min 
gled  tears  and  pluck,  and  promised  to  write  nothing 
that  would  disturb  his  sister. 

"It's  mother's  fault,"  he  sobbed — "all  the  boys  say 
so." 

"The  boys?" 

"Yes;  they  talk  about  it.  George  Magnaville  says 
that  his  mother  says  that  my  mother  is  going  to  marry 
red-faced  old  Bertie.  If  she  does  I'll  never  go  home 
again.  I  shall  feel  no  more  responsibility  for  either 
her  or  father." 

"You  mustn't  listen  to  such  stuff,"  said  Vassall; 
but  he  came  away  from  Eton  more  thoughtful  than  he 
went  there. 

They  were  at  Baden-Baden  when  a  telegram  came 
from  Lady  de  Bohun,  containing  the  one  word,  "Free." 

"I  think  I  had  better  tell  her,"  said  Petrina,  and  so 
she  invited  Hippolyta  to  walk. 

"We've  had  a  telegram  from  your  mother  to-day," 
she  began,  as  they  strolled  by  the  murmuring  Oos, 
under  the  trees  of  the  Lichtenthaler  Alle"e. 

"And  has  it  taken  place?" 

"What?"  Petrina  inquired,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"The  divorce." 

"Yes,  dear;  but—" 

"Don't  tell  me  any  more  about  it,  please,  Petrina. 
Ask  Uncle  Harry  not  to  speak  of  it.  I  knew  it  was 
coming,  and,"  she  went  on,  speaking  very  softly,  "in 
spite  of  what  papa  said  to  comfort  me  in  London,  I  know 
the  reason  why.  There  are  things  -which  admit  of  no 
mitigation,  and  this  is  one.  I  mean  to  bear  it,  remem- 

223 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

bering  that  I  am  both  my  father's  and  my  mother's 
child.  Only  if  you  and  Uncle  Harry  want  to  help  me 
there  is  a  way." 

"You  know  in  advance  that  we  will  take  it." 

"  It  is  in  asking  papa  and  mamma  to  allow  me  some 
day — not  yet,  but  some  day — to  go  into  the  convent." 

A  little  later  they  returned  to  England,  and  went 
straight  to  Orpington  Park.  Tristram,  home  for  the 
holidays,  was  at  the  station.  The  brother  and  sister 
met  with  some  embarrassment.  They  spoke  of  their 
mother,  but  avoided  their  father's  name. 

"So  you  didn't  go  to  Scotland,  after  all,"  Vassall 
remarked  to  his  sister,  as  they  sat  about  the  tea-table 
in  the  drawing-room,  just  after  their  arrival. 

"No,"  said  Lady  de  Bohun,  with  a  little  pout.  "I 
changed  my  mind  and  cancelled  my  acceptances. 
Scotland's  so  wet — " 

"And  a  widow  whose  husband  isn't  dead,"  inter 
posed  Tristram,  "always  gets  a  damp  welcome  every 
where.  George  Magnaville's  mother  said  that." 

"  If  I'm  in  need  of  a  husband  she  might  spare  me  one 
of  hers,"  Lady  de  Bohun  rejoined,  with  spirit. 

"I'm  tired,"  said  Hippolyta,  putting  down  her  un- 
tasted  cup  of  tea.  "I  think  I  shall  go  to  my  room." 

"You  clear  out,  too,"  said  Vassall  to  Tristram.  "Go 
and  see  if  the  luggage  has  arrived." 

Left  to  themselves,  the  three  older  ones  talked  with 
greater  ease.  Lady  de  Bohun  was  as  brisk  as  ever, 
but  Vassall  and  Petrina  both  detected  a  new,  perhaps 
a  forced,  note  in  her  cheerfulness.  They  observed,  too, 
that  her  face  was  pinched  and  wan.  Her  delicate  beauty 
seemed  a  little  faded,  and  more  than  ever  fragile. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Humphrey?"  she  asked, 
when  they  had  talked  of  many  other  things.  She 
seemed  almost  embarrassed  as  she  spoke. 

224 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Harry  saw  him  in  Paris.     I  didn't/'  said  Petrina. 

"  Where  was  it?     In  the  street?" 

"At  the  Pavilion  d'Armenonville,"  Vassall  replied. 
"He  was  lunching  there.  I  was  on  my  wheel  in  the 
Bois,  and  had  stopped  for  a  brandy-and-soda. " 

"Was  he  alone?" 

"He  seemed  very  well." 

"Was  he  alone?"  she  insisted.  "Oh,  you  needn't 
be  afraid  to  tell  me.  It's  nothing  to  me — now." 

"He  wasn't  alone,"  Vassall  said,  with  an  attempt 
at  speaking  carelessly.  "I  think  I'll  just  go  up  and 
try  to  get  some  of  the  dust  off." 

As  he  left  the  room  Lady  de  Bohun  laughed — but 
there  was  a  nervousness  in  her  mirth  which  did  not 
escape  Petrina 's  ear. 

"  I  wish  you  had  seen  him,"  she  said,  when  her  brother 
had  gone  out.  "Harry  is  so  unobservant  and  so — 
uncommunicative.  Whom  was  Humphrey  with?  Harry 
must  have  told  you." 

"He  didn't,"  Petrina  declared.  "I  never  knew  till 
now  that  there  was  anybody  with  him." 

"That's  the  way  these  men  hang  together.  You 
can't  trust  one  of  them.  For  anything  you  know  Harry 
was  lunching  with  them.  He  may  even  have  been  with 
some  one  else.  Why  aren't  you  a  little  more  suspicious, 
Petrina  dear?" 

Petrina  said  nothing.  Her  sister-in-law  sat  a  few 
moments  looking  meditatively  at  the  floor. 

"Well,  it's  nothing  to  me  what  Humphrey  does," 
she  said  again.  "  He  may  lunch  with  all  the  ladies  of 
the  Vaudeville  or  the  Gymnase  for  aught  I  care.  Do 
you  know  if  he's  still  abroad?" 

"Why,  he's  gone  to  America." 

"Gone?— What?"  Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  leaning 
forward  in  surprise. 

*  225 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"Didn't  you  know?  He  was  on  his  way  to  Cher 
bourg  when  Harry  met  him." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word !  I  think  that  at  least  he  might 
have  written. " 

"He  did  write — to  Hippolyta." 

"But  I  suppose  I  have  some  claim." 

"Well,  Emmy,  you  know  that  the  claim  you 
had—" 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  that,  Petrina.  I  know  quite 
well  what  I've  done;  and  as  long  as  Humphrey  keeps 
within  a  certain  distance,  where  I  can  hear  about  him 
and  know  what  he's  doing,  I'm  resigned.  I  accept  the 
inevitable.  But — " 

"Resigned?  Accept?  Inevitable?  How  well  you 
choose  your  words." 

"But  when  it  comes  to  going  to  America — to  the 
other  side  of  the  world,  I  do  think  I — Well,"  she  cried, 
jumping  up  and  beginning  to  move  about  the  room, 
"  as  I  said  before,  it's  nothing  to  me,  nothing  whatever. 
He  might  go  to  Australia,  he  might  go  to  Fiji,  wherever 
that  is,  and  I  shouldn't  give  him  a  thought.  Of  course 
I  have  to  remember  that  he's  the  children's  father. 
You  can't  expect  me  to  forget  that.  But  as  to  anything 
else,  he's  as  dead  to  me  as  if  he  were  the  hero  of  one  of 
last  year's  novels — deader.  I  don't  want  to  be  told 
where  he  goes,  the  Lord  knows.  But  I  should  think  his 
own  feeling,  his  natural  courtesy — and  he  was  always 
polite,  now  wasn't  he?" 

"Always,"  Petrina  interjected. 

"  That's  one  thing  I  liked  about  him,  even  at  the  worst 
of  times.  Well,"  she  exclaimed  in  another  tone,  throw 
ing  herself  into  a  chair,  "  let  him  go.  I  never  asked  him 
a  question  as  to  what  he  meant  to  do,  and  I  never  shall. 
Did  he  tell  Harry  what  he  was  going  to  do  when  he  got 
there?" 

226 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Harry  understood  that  he  was  going  to  Lenox,  to 
the  Tyrells." 

"  And  '  may  good  words  go  with  his  name '  1  If  he  had 
written  to  me — even  the  least  little  line — I  shouldn't  feel 
so  indifferent  about  him  as  I  do  now.  Now  I  am  ab 
solutely,  pitilessly  indifferent.  You  see  it,  don't  you? 
It's  curious  how  one  can  accept  the  big  wrongs  of  life 
and  yet  have  all  the  love  crushed  out  of  one  by  the  little 
ones.  Well,  well,  well!  It  takes  every  kind  of  people 
to  make  a  world;  but  if  anybody  had  told  me  that 
Humphrey  de  Bohun  would  have  gone  to  America, 
without  a  word  to  his  wife — " 

"His—?" 

"Wife,  I  say,  Petrina.  I  was  his  wife.  I  suppose 
that  in  a  certain  sense  I  am  so  still." 

Lady  de  Bohun  sat  up  straight  in  her  chair,  and  in 
her  air  there  was  something  like  a  challenge. 

Petrina  smiled,  but  seemed  disinclined  to  enter  on  the 
subject. 

"I'll  go  to  my  room  now,  Emmy  dear,"  she  said, 
rising.  "  I  suppose  dinner,  as  usual,  is  at  eight. " 

The  evening,  contrary  to  expectation,  was  a  cheer 
ful  one.  For  the  first  time  in  anybody's  memory  Lady 
de  Bohun  seemed  glad  to  have  her  children  near  her. 
In  a  rather  timid  way  she  clung  to  them.  She  insist 
ed  that  Tristram  should  stay  up  and  dine  with  them; 
and,  when  dinner  was  over,  she  kept  Hippolyta  be 
side  her  on  the  sofa.  She  talked  brightly;  but  in  her 
vivacity  there  was  that  persistent  note  of  something 
queer  and  new  which  Petrina  had  noticed  in  the  after 
noon. 

Vassall,  too,  spoke  of  it,  when  he  and  his  wife  were  in 
their  apartments. 

"I  wonder  if  she  isn't  a  little  lonely?"  he  said. 

But  Petrina  made  no  reply.  She  closed  the  door 

227 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

between  her  room  and  his,  and  began  to  think  along 
new  lines.  Presently  Emmy's  tap  was  heard. 

"Come  in,  dear/'  Petrina  said. 

"Where's  Harry?"  Lady  de  Bohun  asked,  showing 
her  head  through  the  half-open  door. 

"  In  his  own  room.  He  won't  be  here  again  to-night. 
You  needn't  be  afraid.  Come  in." 

Lady  de  Bohun  entered,  slipping  into  an  arm-chair 
by  the  open  window. 

"I've  been  in  looking  at  baby,"  she  said.  "He's  a 
dear  little  boy.  I  don't  think  I  ever  noticed  before  how 
much  he's  like  his  father.  I'm  glad  we've  called  him 
Humphrey.  I  wanted  something  else  at  the  time,  but 
now —  Well,"  she  sighed,  "I  suppose  we  shall  never 
have  another." 

"Under  the  circumstances,  I  should  hope  not." 

"You're  so  unfeeling,  Petrina.  I've  always  noticed 
that  you  weren't  in  the  least  maternal." 

There  were  several  replies  hovering  on  Petrina's  lips, 
but  she  went  on  brushing  her  hair  in  silence. 

"Didn't  it  ever  strike  you,"  Lady  de  Bohun  asked, 
after  a  long  pause,  "  that  Gentian  Tyrell  was  a  perfect 
little  schemer?" 

"Rather,"  Petrina  admitted.     "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Because  when  she  was  here  I  thought  her  rather 
silly  about  Humphrey.  It  was  nothing  to  me — then, 
but—" 

"But  it  is  now?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  Less  than  ever.  But  it  seems  to 
me  rather  queer  that  the  moment  I  give  Humphrey  a 
little  rope—" 

"A  great  deal  of  rope,  I  should  say." 

"  That  he  should  go  straight  to  stay  with  them.  Now, 
doesn't  it  seem  so  to  you?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say  that  it  does,  Emmy.  Poor  Hum- 

228 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

phrey  had  to  hide  his  vanquished  head  somewhere. 
Why  not  at  Lenox,  where  he  knows  people,  as  well 
as  in  Sweden  or  in  Spain,  where  he  doesn't?" 

"True,  dear,  but  all  the  same — " 

Lady  de  Bohun  spoke  slowly,  and  seemed  to  be  re 
flecting. 

"All  the  same,"  she  said  again,  after  a  slight  pause, 
"I  wish,  when  you  go  back,  you'd  try  to  lure  him  up 
to  Faneuil  Hill.  I'm  sure  he'd  enjoy  himself  ever  so 
much  more  there;  and  he'd  be — well,  I  hesitate  for  a 
word — he'd  be — safer." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  safer,  Emmy?  Safer  from 
what?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can  quite  explain  myself — " 
Lady  de  Bohun  began. 

"Do  you  see  much  of  Major  Bertie?"  Petrina  asked, 
in  a  careless  tone,  as  though  there  were  rio  secondary 
meaning  to  the  question. 

"Not  so  very  much.  He  comes  over  now  and  then, 
but—" 

"But  you  are  not  yet  decided?" 

"I  can  see  Tristram  doesn't  like  him,  and  of  course 
that  weighs  with  me.  Then,  too — don't  you  think  it  a 
little,  just  a  little,  soon  for  me  to  receive  attentions?" 

"But  a  divorce  isn't  like  a  widowhood,  you  know, 
dear.  You  don't  wear  mourning,  or  even  stay  away 
from  parties.  I've  known  women  to  be  divorced  in  the 
morning  and  married  again  in  the  afternoon.  You  see, 
it  isn't  as  if  there  was  a  funeral  or  anything  to  wait  for." 

"True,  true,"  Lady  de  Bohun  admitted,  thoughtfully, 
"but  still  it  seems  to  me  that  marriage  should  be  pre 
ceded  by  certain  attentions — " 

"Why,  you  were  getting  them  all  last  winter.  You 
told  me  so." 

"Ah  yes.  But  the  attentions  one  gets  as  a  married 

229 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

woman  are  so  different  from  those  one  receives  as 
a—" 

"Divorcee,"  said  Petrina,  looking  at  herself  in  a 
hand-mirror. 

"Oh,  don't  call  me  that,  dear/'  Lady  de  Bohun 
pleaded.  " I  hate  the  word." 

She  sprang  up  and  began  moving  restlessly  about. 
Petrina  went  on  twisting  up  her  hair.  Lady  de  Bohun 
came  and  stood  looking  down  at  her. 

"How  nice  your  hair  is/'  she  said,  "so  fine  and  yet 
so  much  of  it." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  Petrina  said,  indifferently, 
as  she  searched  on  the  dressing  -  table  for  a  hair 
pin. 

"Do  I  think  so?  Yes,  I  think  so,"  Lady  de  Bohun 
cried,  in  a  tone  half  of  mockery,  half  of  exasperation, 
and  with  a  suggestion  of  nervousness  and  tears.  Pe 
trina  glanced  up  quickly.  They  looked  each  other  in 
the  eyes. 

"How  queer  you  seem,  Emmy,  dear!" 

"Queer?  Of  course  I'm  queer,"  she  cried,  with  a 
half-sob. 

It  was  only  an  instant.  She  recovered  herself  with 
a  slightly  hysterical  laugh. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  should  like?"  she  asked, 
dashing  aside  the  tears.  "You'd  never  guess,  not 
if  you  guessed  till  you  fell  asleep.  I  should  like  to 
see  mother.  It's  the  first  time  for  years  and  years 
that  I've  wanted  it.  I  wish  she  were  here.  I  wish  I 
were  there.  I  wish  I  could  snuggle  myself  up  to 
her  in  her  long  chair,  as  I  used  to  do  when  I  was 
a  little  girl,  and  have  her  comfort  me.  Latterly, 
ever  since  Humphrey  went,  it's  all  come  back  to 
me.  Oh,  Petrina,  why  are  you  so  dense?  Why  is 
Harry  so  stupid?  You've  invited  Hippolyta  to  Amer- 

230 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

ica.  Why  don't  you  invite  me?  Don't  you  see  I'm 
longing  to  go?" 

"Then  come,  dear/'  said  Petrina. 

As  she  spoke  she  rose,  and  with  the  soft  smile  of  the 
woman  who  comprehends  folded  Emilia  in  her  strong 
young  arms. 


part  iron 


CHAPTER  I 

"  How  can  two  walk  together  except  they  be  agreed?" 

This  was  the  problem  Vassall  and  Petrina  were  now 
consciously  trying  to  work  out.  Up  to  their  return 
to  America  they  had  been  able  to  postpone  its  solu 
tion.  But,  once  there,  they  had  begun  immediately  to 
walk  apart. 

Three  days  after  their  arrival  Petrina  found  herself 
alone  at  the  breakfast-table  in  the  bow-fronted  embra 
sure  of  the  dining-room  at  Faneuil  Hill. 

Vassall  had  gone  to  Boston  by  an  early  train.  He 
could  not  stay  away  any  longer  from  "the  office."  For 
the  rest  of  the  autumn  he  would  be  at  Faneuil  Hill  from 
Saturday  afternoon  to  Monday  morning  every  week. 
The  remainder  of  the  time  he  would  be  at  work. 

He  had  breakfasted  alone,  and  had  just  driven  away. 
As  Petrina,  looking  absently  over  the  panorama  of 
wooded  New  Hampshire  hills,  sat  waiting  for  her  moth 
er  to  come  down,  she  avowed  her  strong  disapproval 
of  his  action. 

"This  is  the  parting  of  the  ways,"  she  thought. 
"  Either  he  must  walk  with  me,  or  I  shall  go  on  alone." 

They  had  not  quarrelled:  they  had  only  differed 
courteously.  Since  leaving  England  there  had  been 
several  occasions  on  which  Vassall  had  lost  his  temper, 
but  Petrina  had  had  at  command  the  soft  answer  which 
soothes  for  the  moment  but  leaves  a  sting  behind. 

"I  haven't  asked  mamma  to  have  the  Boston  house 
opened,"  she  said,  as  she  leaned  with  her  husband  on 

235 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

the  rail  of  the  Calabria,  idly  watching  the  Irish  pas 
sengers  come  on  at  Queenstown.  Lady  de  Bohun  and 
Hippolyta,  to  whom  the  scene  was  more  novel,  were 
chaffering  for  laces  and  black  bog-wood  toys  with  the 
Irishwomen  on  the  tender. 

"You're  quite  right,"  said  Vassall.  "Our  own 
house  will  be  ready,  though  my  mother  will  be  at  New 
port  with  the  Peabody  Pepperells." 

"I  thought,"  Petrina  went  on,  ignoring  his  words, 
"that  we  could  go  straight  from  New  York  to  Faneuil 
Hill  by  way  of  Keene.  Then,  when  we  come  back  to 
Boston,  all  the  work  on  the  music-room  will  be  finished." 

Vassall  started. 

"You've  gone  on  with  that,  after  all?"  he  asked, 
with  brows  knitted.  "  I  understood  that  you  had  given 
the  idea  up." 

"I  knew  you'd  like  it  when  you  saw  it.  We  could 
hardly  do  without  it,  if  we  are  going  to  have  many 
people  at  a  time.  Besides,  it  will  do  not  only  for  music 
but  for  dancing." 

"But,  Petrina,  dearest,"  Vassall  protested,  "surely 
my  house  is  your  home." 

"And  surely  mine  is  yours,"  she  responded  with  a 
smile. 

Hitherto  they  had  only  skirted  this  subject.  When 
it  had  come  up  they  had  avoided  it — each  waiting  for 
the  moment  when  his  or  her  will  could  be  imposed,  not 
by  force,  but  by  diplomatic  adroitness.  The  moment 
had  come  when  the  question  must  be  discussed. 

"I  shall  not  live  in  Cambridge,"  was  the  burden  of 
what  Petrina  had  to  say. 

"The  Vassalls  have  never  lived  elsewhere,"  was  the 
husband's  argument. 

If  either  yielded  it  was  he.  That  is,  he  agreed  to  go 
to  Faneuil  Hill,  and  afterwards  for  a  time  to  Beacon 

236 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Street.  Beyond  that  there  was  no  decision.  The 
subject  was,  indeed,  almost  forgotten  when  Petriria 
perceived  that  Vassall  meant  to  leave  her  at  Faneuil 
Hill  that  he  might  return  to  work.  Work  was  a  word 
which  for  her  had  little  meaning.  Her  father  had  had 
no  profession,  and  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  that 
Vassall  would  remain  in  his  when  there  was  no  longer 
a  financial  reason  for  his  doing  so. 

"I  have  my  living  to  earn,"  he  repeated;  but,  when 
there  was  so  much  money,  the  argument  seemed  to 
her  a  foolish  one.  It  was  not,  in  her  opinion,  a  question 
of  pride,  but  of  utility.  There  were  so  many  other  things 
for  him  to  do,  things  which  she  considered  essential, 
and  for  which  partially  she  had  married  him. 

Therefore,  as  she  sat  waiting  for  her  stepmother,  she 
tapped  nervously  on  the  table,  while  strange  thoughts 
passed  through  her  mind. 

"It's  just  as  it  used  to  be,"  Mrs.  Faneuil  said,  when 
she  had  taken  her  place  and  began  to  pour  the  coffee. 
"  When  I  see  you  opposite  me  I  can  scarcely  realize  that 
you've  been  married." 

"  Marriage  does  make  less  impression  than  I  thought 
it  would,"  Petrina  said,  as  she  took  her  cup. 

"Ah?  You  think  that?  It  isn't  the  usual  expe 
rience." 

"I  differ  from  you  there,  mamma.  I  know  so  many 
people  who've  been  married  and  unmarried,  and  the  fact 
has  passed  over  them  as  easily  as  a  trip  abroad." 

"  Marriage  enlarges  the  ideas  but  leaves  one's  self  un 
changed?  Is  that  it?" 

"  It  leaves  one's  self  more  one's  self  than  ever.  The 
close  contact  with  another  life  reveals  the  fact  that  there 
is  a  point  beyond  which  one  cannot  go.  I  used  to  think 
that  perhaps  there  might  be  a  certain  breaking-down 
of  boundary- lines — a  community  of  life,  as  Harry  says. 

237 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

I  never  was  very  sure  of  it,  but  now  I  know  that  human 
existences  are  like  islands  in  the  ocean;  they  may  lie 
near  together,  but  they  never  merge." 

" I  call  that  rather  cynical  in  a  wife." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  how  a  wife  can  be  otherwise  than 
cynical.  All  the  married  women  I  know  are  spending 
their  time  trying  to  piece  together  shattered  hopes.  It's 
rather  pathetic,  I  think,  and  such  a  waste  of  energy." 

"If  I  didn't  know  you  were  happy — "  Mrs.  Faneuil 
began,  with  a  shade  of  anxiety  in  her  tone. 

"Oh,  I  have  never  regretted  my  marriage,  as  an — 
experiment "  Petrina  hastened  to  say,  while  she  buttered 
her  toast. 

"As  a  what,  dear?    Did  you  say  an  experiment?" 

"Yes,  mamma.  Everything  is  experimental  now- 
a-days,  and  marriage  most  of  all. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  follow  you." 

"  Hasn't  it  struck  you  that  we  are  all  more  cautious 
and  tentative  than  people  used  to  be.  Among  most 
women,  and  especially  New  England  women,  there 
is  a  reluctance  to  commit  one's  self." 

"But  in  marriage  one  does  commit  one's  self." 

"  Up  to  a  certain  point ;  but  not  to  a  point  from  which 
one  cannot  go  on  to  something  else.  Take  Emmy 
de  Bohun  as  an  example.  She  is  quite  modern.  She  is 
held  by  no  scruples,  prejudices,  or  preconceptions.  She 
treats  marriage,  therefore,  in  an  experimental  way.  She 
tries  first  the  ordinary  condition  of  conjugal  co-opera 
tion —  the  one  I'm  trying  now  —  and  she  meets  with 
indifferently  good  results.  Then  she  experiments  with 
what  is  commonly  called  separation,  with  results  still 
unsatisfactory.  Then  she  takes  a  step  forward  and 
tries  divorce,  with  results  as  yet  to  be  ascertained. 
But  if  I  don't  mistake  her  she  means  to  go  on  to  a  fourth 
test  still — that  of  remarriage  with  the  man  she  has 

238 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

put  away.  Her  experiments  have  shown  her  that  she 
loves  him  more  than  she  supposed.  If  you  think  that 
what  I  call  the  stage  of  conjugal  co-operation  is  the 
final  one — " 

"Final,  except  for  widowhood.  I  did  think  that — 
more  or  less." 

"  Then  that  only  shows  your  moral  progress  to  have 
been  arrested.  I'm  surprised  at  that  in  you,  mamma." 

"I  often  wonder/'  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  thoughtfully, 
"how  much  of  what  you  say  is  theoretical  and  how 
much  practical." 

"  That  is,  whether  or  not  I  have  the  courage  of  my 
convictions.     I  think  you  may  take  it  that  I  have.     But 
I  see  that  that  isn't  quite  your  thought.     You  want  to 
know  if  my  married  experience — " 
v  "No,  dear,  I  don't.     No  one  has  a  right  to  ask — " 

"Perhaps  not.  But  one  has  a  right  to  tell.  And  I 
like  to  talk  to  you,  mamma.  You're  so  open-minded. 
You  can  be  sympathetic  without  nattering ;  and  you  can 
receive  confidences  without  giving  advice.  Now,  Emmy 
can't  be  the  one,  and  Harry  can't  do  the  other.  So  it's 
a  genuine  relief  to  be  face  to  face  with  you." 

"If  I  can't  natter,  you  can,"  said  Mrs.  Faneuil,  look 
ing  pleased.  "But  one  day,  when  you  know  your 
husband  better — that  takes  time,  you  know — you'll 
find  that  he  is  the  best  confidant." 

"Oh,  I'm  perfectly  at  home  with  Harry.  Only  he 
has  so  many  notions  that  I  find  conversation  with  him 
dangerous.  Latterly  when  we've  been  alone  I've  felt 
all  the  time  as  if  I  were  out  of  doors  on  the  Fourth  of 
July.  I'm  always  nervous  lest  something  will  ex 
plode." 

"Have  you  ever  asked  yourself  how  much  of  that 
is  his  fault—?" 

"And  how  much  is  mine?    Yes,  mother  dear,  I  have. 

239 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

And  I  am  bound  to  confess  that  it's  mostly  his.     You 
see,  he  has  so  many  ideas  of  his  own — " 

"  And  you  have  none?" 

"  But  I  have  a  right  to  mine.  He  knew  them  before 
he  married  me;  while  I  didn't  know  one-half  of  his. 
I'm  not  unreasonable,  mother  dear;  but  could  I  go  and 
live  in  that  old,  mouldering  house  in  Cambridge?  Can 
you  fancy  me  there?  And  then  all  this  folly  about  earn 
ing  his  own  living  1  If  I  hadn't  had  enough  for  two 
I  shouldn't  have  taken  him.  And  I  want  him  for  so 
many  other  things.  At  this  very  minute  I  should  be 
writing  to  Saltonstall  Browne  and  Tremont  Somerset 
and  two  or  three  other  men  to  come  and  see  us  between 
now  and  November.  But  I  can't  do  it  if  Harry  isn't 
to  be  here." 

"But  we've  had  men  before." 

"Yes,  but  rather  tamely.  When  there  isn't  a  man 
belonging  to  a  house  other  men  fight  shy  of  it.  I've 
always  noticed  that,  and  it  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  I 
married.  But  if  he's  going  to  shut  himself  up  in  a  musty 
office  in  State  Street,  I  shall  have  had  my  trouble  for  my 
pains.  '  The  Office '  he  calls  it,  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of 
god  he  served." 

"Most  women  like  their  husbands  to  have  some  oc 
cupation." 

"I  have  plenty  for  mine;  but  he  won't  do  it." 

"You  thought  you  were  marrying  a  lay-figure,  but 
you  see  you  have  found  a  man." 

"I  thought  I  was  marrying  a  supplementary  self; 
but  I  have  found — " 

"Don't  tell  me  what  you've  found,  dear.  You  will 
know  that  better  five  years  hence." 

"Five  what,  mamma?  Do  you  fancy  I  am  going  to 
wait  five  years?  It  would  become  a  tragedy." 

"But  marriage  isn't  a  comedy,  my  dear." 

240 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"Oh,  yes,  it  is;  a  high  comedy;  a  comedy  of  states 
of  mind." 

"I  should  rather  say  a  comedy  of  passions/' 

"  It  is  that,  too.  Of  course  where  there  has  been  love 
there  must  have  been  passion." 

"I'm  glad  you've  mentioned  that,"  said  Mrs.  Fan- 
euil,  with  a  smile.  "  I  observe  that  love  is  always  the 
last  word  with  you  when  you  speak  of  marriage,  but 
perhaps  that's  because  it's  the  first  thought." 

"That  isn't  so,"  said  Petrina,  shaking  her  head. 
"  Love  in  a  life  such  as  I  mean  to  lead  is  like  the  silver 
thread  in  a  brocade.  It  adds  a  touch  of  beauty,  but 
you  can  have  the  brocade  without  it.  And,  on  the  whole, 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  less  love,  the  greater  the  hap 
piness.  If  that  seems  crude,  I  would  put  it  thus :  that 
the  more  lightly  love  is  introduced  into  life  the  more 
prospect  there  is  of  its  lasting.  I'm  not  nearly  so  in 
clined  to  think  it  an  important  thing  as  I  was  a  year 
ago.  On  one  side  or  the  other  it  is  sure  to  wear  out, 
and  then—?" 

"Yes?    And  then?" 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Lechmere.  We've  been 
seeing  a  good  deal  of  him." 

" Tell  me  about  him.     He  has  always  interested  me." 

"  There's  an  instance  where  the  love  has  endured  on 
one  side  and  not  on  the  other.  And  the  result,  of  course, 
is  misery." 

" Poor  fellow!     Doesn't  he  get  over  it?" 

"  Yes — in  a  way.  But  one  divines  that  it  is  always 
there." 

"And  she?     You  met  her,  I  think,  you  said?" 

"  A  horrid  creature.    She  is  lovely  to  look  at,  especially 
from  a  distance ;  but  in  reality  she  is  both  common  and 
commonplace.      One  can't  help  wondering  how  a  man 
like  Mr.  Lechmere  could  ever  have  cared  for  her." 
Q  241 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"When  you  are  my  age  that  sort  of  thing  will  be 
more  of  a  puzzle  and  less  of  a  surprise.  I  haven't 
known  many  cases  of  a  grand  passion ;  but  those  I 
have  known  were  roused  by  what  seemed  to  me  the 
most  unworthy  objects.  Love  is  a  great  mystery." 

"Do  you  really  think  so,  mother  dear  ?"  said  Petrina, 
rising  and  moving  languidly  towards  the  veranda.  "  I 
have  been  through  it,  and  am  now  almost  out  at  the 
other  side,  and  it  has  seemed  to  me  such  a  slight  thing 
— a  comedy,  as  we  said  just  now — " 

"In  passions." 

"  In  passions,  if  you  will,  but  still  a  comedy  with  a 
little  to  feel,  and  a  little  to  laugh  at,  and  much  to  think 
about,  and  a  very  few  tears." 

"I  wonder  if  you  have  loved?"  Mrs.  Faneuil  asked, 
looking  up  at  her. 

"Most  certainly  I  have;  and  I  do.     But — " 

"Then  the  end  is  not  yet." 

"No,  not  yet.  I  admit  that.  But  I  ask  myself,  can 
it  be  that  it  is  not  far  off?" 

Petrina  went  out  on  the  veranda,  and  Mrs.  Faneu;! 
came  and  stood  beside  her. 

For  a  while  they  gazed  without  speaking  over  the 
huge,  restful  flank  of  Mount  Majestic.  Suddenly 
Petrina  turned  towards  her  stepmother. 

"I  think  there  is  something  the  matter  with  you," 
she  said,  half  anxiously. 

"Nonsense,  my  dear  child." 

"  Is  it  because  you're  going  to  live  in  an  apartment, 
mamma?  You  know  I'd  a  thousand  times  rather  keep 
you  with  me." 

"I  prefer  to  do  as  I'm  doing.  I  shall  be  only  across 
the  street,  and  so  can  see  as  much  or  as  little  of  you 
as  I  choose." 

"  Then  what  is  it?  You  seem  thin  and  white.  You're 
242 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

a  little  depressed,  too.  I've  noticed  it  ever  since  I  re 
turned." 

"It  isn't  anything,  dear,  to  worry  you.  It's  only 
that  I'm  growing  older  and  gradually  travelling  over 
there." 

She  pointed  to  the  westward,  but  Petrina  slipped  her 
arm  about  her  stepmother's  waist. 

"No,  no,  you  mustn't,"  she  murmured  with  affection. 
" I  couldn't  do  without  you." 

Mrs.  Faneuil  smiled,  but  turned  silently  away,  won 
dering  how  long  she  could  conceal  the  fact  that  the 
physicians  had  already  passed  their  sentence  of  death 
upon  her. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN  Petrina  returned  to  Boston  Lady  de  Bohun's 
visit  gave  her  a  natural  excuse  for  much  entertaining. 
The  new  music-room  was  not  quite  ready,  so  she  gave 
lunches  and  dinners  and  afternoon  parties.  Some 
thing  of  her  ambition  was  realized ;  for  other  hostesses 
stepped  aside  to  let  her  take  the  lead.  Loving  her 
Boston  with  a  patriot's  love,  she  believed  intensely  in 
its  greatness.  She  was  not  narrow,  she  was  only  en 
thusiastic.  She  liked  the  ease  of  London ;  the  brilliancy 
of  Paris;  the  dignity  of  Vienna;  the  strenuousness  of 
New  York ;  the  quaintness  of  Philadelphia ;  the  indolence 
of  Baltimore.  But  all  that  was  best  in  all  these  quali 
ties  she  found  in  Boston,  with  added  capabilities  New 
England  born.  Petrina's  limitations  were  in  things 
spiritual;  her  ignorance  was  in  things  moral;  her 
strength  lay  in  the  human  side  of  things,  in  the  grace 
ful,  the  tactful,  the  pleasing,  the  merely  passing,  and 
what  some  would  call  the  vain.  Hers  was,  therefore, 
not  a  great  ambition ;  but  then  her  nature  was  not  great. 
In  the  Boston  of  her  birth  and  love  she  saw  possibilities 
of  power  wedded  to  charm,  of  intelligence  going  with 
gayety.  Of  these  social  forces  she  wanted  to  be  the 
Lady  Holland  or  the  Madame  de  Stael.  She  began 
her  campaign  at  once  by  throwing  the  young  and  the 
old  together,  by  mingling  the  married  with  the  single, 
by  putting  members  of  the  "hunting  set"  side  by  side 
at  table  with  literary  people  who  were  not  often  asked 
to  dinner  anywhere.  She  expended  much  thought 

244 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

in  seeking  secret  sympathies  between  those  who  had 
been  strangers.  She  wanted  to  enlarge  society  and  so 
to  enrich  individual  lives.  It  was  not  much  to  do  in 
this  needy  world,  but  perhaps  it  was  better  than  to  have 
no  aim  at  all. 

She  made  some  mistakes;  she  even  created  enemies. 
She  encountered  the  coldness  of  old,  well-established 
families,  whose  entertaining  was  confined  to  those  who 
had  some  claims  of  kinship.  She  gave  offence  to  more 
than  one  young  miss  in  having  her  taken  out  to  dinner 
by  a  married  man.  Ladies  and  gentlemen  in  their  first 
season  felt  themselves  humiliated  in  being  asked  to  sit 
at  the  same  board  with  those  who  were  in  their  fifth  or 
sixth — or  who  had  ceased  to  keep  the  count.  Now  and 
then  it  was  evident  that  some  one  who  found  himself 
"  out  of  his  set "  was  as  much  at  a  loss  as  an  ant  trans 
ferred  from  his  own  ant-hill  to  another.  All  these  were 
little  difficulties  which  Petrina  had  the  time  and 
patience  and  tact  to  overcome.  By  Christmas  she  felt 
herself  beginning  to  succeed;  and  when,  with  the  New 
Year,  she  should  have  her  music-room,  she  meant  to 
begin  operations  on  a  larger  scale. 

And  yet  her  heart  sometimes  misgave  her.  Triumph 
abroad  was  dearly  purchased  by  struggle  at  home.  On 
all  her  efforts  Vassall  looked  with  a  disapproval  which 
he  cared  less  and  less  to  conceal.  The  manner  of  life 
was  utterly  different  from  any  he  had  meant  that 
they  should  lead.  From  his  point  of  view  it  was  frivo 
lous,  conspicuous,  and  expensive.  It  was  worse  than 
that ;  it  was  worldly,  pretentious,  and  unworthy  of  people 
with  serious  views  of  life.  His  position  obliged  him  to 
play  the  host  to  a  troop  of  strangers  whom  he  hated  to 
see  come  within  his  doors.  And  yet  they  were  not  his 
doors!  The  fact  that  all  this  hospitality  was  given 
with  money  to  which  he  had  but  a  secondary  claim,  and 

245 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

in  a  house  of  which  he  was  the  master  only  by  marriage, 
was  one  which  he  found  galling.  The  mere  expendi 
ture  was,  to  his  thrifty  New  England  mind,  objection 
able  ;  the  unconcealed  effects  of  wealth,  which  his  mother 
called  "display,"  were  more  objectionable  still;  while 
the  lack  of  privacy,  the  sense  of  never  having  the  house 
to  themselves,  was  most  objectionable  of  all.  When 
he  came  home  tired  from  the  office,  there  was  not  a 
half-hour's  repose  before  dressing  to  go  with  Petrina  to 
dine  at  some  one's  house,  or  to  make  himself  agreeable 
to  those  who  were  coming  to  dine  at  theirs. 

"Are  we  never  going  to  have  an  evening  alone  to 
gether  again?"  he  asked,  with  a  weary  smile,  when 
Petrina  consulted  him  as  to  whom  to  ask  with  his  cous 
ins,  the  Peabody  Pepperells. 

"What  for?"  she  said,  not  lifting  her  eyes  from  her 
note- book. 

"To  see  each  other,  to  talk.  I  thought,  too,"  he 
suggested,  almost  timidly,  "that  by-and-by  we  might 
take  up  some  reading  aloud." 

"Oh,  Harry,"  she  cried,  in  the  voice  of  a  woman  who 
has  been  wounded,  "not  that!"  Then  she  went  on, 
in  another  tone.  "  Don't  you  think  we  might  include 
the  Ripley  Brownes?  They've  asked  us  twice,  and 
we've  never  invited  them  at  all.  I  shall  not  have  the 
daughter,  though;  she  uses  such  profane  language." 

"She's  heartless,"  Vassall  thought,  as  he  went  out. 

"He's  more  dampening  to  the  spirits  than  rain  to 
gunpowder,"  she  commented,  as  she  jotted  down  names 
in  her  note-book. 

"I  think  of  asking  a  few  people  to  inaugurate  the 
music-room  on  New  Year's  night,"  she  said  to  him, 
just  before  Christmas. 

"It's  a  Sunday  night,"  he  objected. 

"People  don't  mind  that,  you  know." 

246 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"But  I  do." 

"Oh  no,  you  don't,  Harry.  Haven't  we  talked  over 
all  that  before?  Do,  for  once,  be  a  little  cheerful,  and 
let  me  have  things  my  own  way.  Besides,  I  shall  ask 
the  merest  few — only  the  musical  ones — to  drop  in  and 
hear  Pottelewiski  play." 

"I  am  very  likely  to  be  away,  you  know,"  Vassall 
objected  again. 

"  That  won't  matter,"  she  said,  sweetly.  "  But  where 
are  you  going?" 

"I  leave  for  Chicago  on  the  twenty-sixth  to  attend 
that  conference  on  Prison  Reform.  I  can  hardly  be 
back  before  Monday  at  the  earliest." 
V"I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  Petrina.  "But  then  you 
won't  have  any  of  the  responsibility  of  hearing  music 
on  a  Sunday  night." 

Secretly  relieved  at  her  husband's  departure,  Petrina 
felt  herself  free  for  a  ceremony  on  a  larger  scale  than 
that  intimated  in  the  phrase  "a  few  people."  She  con 
sulted  Lady  de  Bohun,  who,  to  Mrs.  Vassall's  dismay, 
promised  her  aid.  To  Pottelewiski  they  added  Made 
moiselle  Chosette,  whose  songs  were  of  the  school  of 
Mademoiselle  Yvette  Guilbert,  while  a  third  attraction 
was  to  be  La  Madrilena,  who  would  give  examples  of 
the  saltatory  art  of  Spain.  It  was  to  be  nothing,  Pe 
trina  said,  as  she  scattered  her  verbal  invitations  every 
where;  "just  a  few  people,"  most  informally,  coming 
in  any  kind  of  costume  they  chose.  On  a  Sunday 
night  one  was  naturally  Bohemian,  and  evening  dress 
was  not  at  all  de  rigueur. 

"Just  a  few  people — only  a  few  more  than  I  intended 
at  first,"  Petrina  explained  to  Vassall,  when,  by  dint  of 
hurrying,  he  arrived  late  on  Sunday  afternoon.  At 
the  distance  of  Chicago  he  thought  more  tenderly  of 
Petrina's  way  of  life,  and  if  she  really  needed  him  for 

247 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

the  reception  of  "a  few  people,"  he  would  sacrifice  a 
day  of  the  conference  to  return  in  time. 

The  evening  was  a  distinct  success,  the  sort  of  suc 
cess  to  be  talked  about  in  clubs  and  to  awaken  scan 
dalized  murmurs  in  conservative  families  who  had  had 
long-standing  ties  with  the  Faneuils.  It  was  a  success 
to  bring  Mrs.  Harry  Vassall's  name  in  large  print 
into  the  papers,  and  to  make  every  messenger  boy  and 
milliner's  girl  turn  to  look  after  her  as  they  passed  her 
in  the  street.  Private  events  form  public  topics  in 
America,  as  they  do  not  in  the  less  naif  older  world, 
and  the  reports  carried  out  by  Petrina's  guests  were  of 
a  kind  which  the  American  press  finds  excellent  "  copy." 

From  his  absence,  the  longest  since  their  marriage, 
Vassall  had  returned  with  his  heart  full  of  love.  As 
the  invited  poured  in  till  the  "few"  became  fifty  and 
the  fifty  a  hundred  and  the  hundred  two  hundred  and 
more,  he  received  them  courteously,  concealing  his  sur 
prise.  He  thanked  Pottelewiski,  whose  playing  he  dis 
liked,  with  as  much  effusion  as  he  could  command,  and 
did  not  stand  aghast  until  Mademoiselle  Chosette,  a 
whimsically  featured,  red  -  haired  French  girl,  badly 
dressed  in  green,  stood  up  by  the  piano,  and,  in  a  hoarse 
voice,  but  with  distinct  enunciation,  sang  of  the  various 
methods  in  which  a  young  woman  may  address  a  gen 
tleman. 

The  air  was  pretty  and  rather  plaintive;  the  French 
girl's  manner  was  touchingly  modest,  as  she  stood 
with  hands  folded  and  eyes  downcast. 

The  applause  was  rapid  and  loud. 

"Capital!"  cried  Saltonstall  Browne. 

"There's  art  for  you!"  called  young  Peabody  Pep- 
perell. 

"Bis!  bis!"  shouted  Quincy  Brattle,  who  spent  most 
of  his  time  in  Paris. 

248 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"What  impudence!"  Mrs.  Bow doin  Somerset  declared 
laughingly  to  Vassall,  as  she  tapped  him  on  the  arm 
with  her  fan.  "To  think  that  you  of  all  men  should 
ask  us  to  come  and  listen  to  the  like  of  that!  And  you 
know  you  cried  '  Shame '  on  my  Sunday-night  receptions, 
just  because  we  had  cheese  and  beer.  But  Sainte  Ni- 
touche  is  always  the  worst.  How  catching  that  little 
refrain  is,  '  Dites,  done,  monsieur  I  Dites,  done,  mon 
sieur!'  ' 

"Dites,  done,  monsieur  I  Dites,  done,  monsieur  I" 
people  were  humming  all  round  him  as  Mrs.  Bowdoin 
Somerset  turned  away.  But  Vassall  smiled  and  talked 
with  every  one.  None,  he  said,  should  know  that  what 
Petrina  did  was  not  approved  by  him. 

But  when  La  Madrilena  had  danced,  and  Chosette 
had  sung  once  more,  and  Pottelewiski  had  scratched 
and  scrambled  again  up  and  down  the  key-board,  and 
the  guests  had  eaten  and  drunk  and  departed,  and 
Emmy,  before  leaving  for  Cambridge,  had  kissed  Pe 
trina  and  declared  that  she  didn't  know  when  she  had 
spent  such  a  pleasant  Sunday  night,  Vassall  went 
into  the  library  and  flung  himself  wearily  into  one  of 
the  large  leathern  chairs. 

"Well,  what  did  you  think  of  it?"  Petrina  asked,  as 
she  came  in  and  found  him  there.  Her  cheek  was 
flushed  and  her  eye  flashing  with  pleasure  and  excite 
ment. 

"I  thought  it  was  an  outrage,"  he  muttered  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  You  said—  ?" 

Petrina  seated  herself  with  dignity.  She  felt  the 
approach  of  another  moment  in  which  she  should  be 
obliged  to  hold  her  own. 

"I  said,  an  outrage,"  he  repeated,  speaking  more 
firmly,  "It  was  an  outrage  on  decency  and  morality. 

249 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

It  was  an  outrage  on  good  manners  and  good  taste. 
It  was  an  outrage  on  your  guests;  it  was  most  of  all 
an  outrage  on  me." 

"  When  I  asked  you  your  opinion/'  she  said,  in  a  voice 
as  quiet  as  his  own,  "  I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  you 
have  lost  the  habit  of  speaking  to  me  as  a  man  should 
speak  to  his  wife.  I  shall  remember  it  in  future.  Good 
night." 

They  both  rose,  and  he  confronted  her. 

"Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  have  some  explana 
tion?"  he  asked.  His  question  sounded  like  a  threat. 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  the  way  we  live.  Of  the  way  we  are  going  to 
live." 

"I  don't  see  the  necessity,"  she  said,  resting  her  arm 
on  the  mantel-piece.  "  You  are  free  to  live  in  any  way 
you  choose.  I  used  to  want  you  to  live  in  mine.  Now — " 

" Now  you  don't  care  any  longer." 

"Rather  I  do  care,"  she  corrected.  "I  care  that 
you  shall  live  as  little  in  my  way  as  possible." 

"Do  you  mean — apart?" 

"Apart  or  together  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me 
so  long  as — " 

"So  long  as  what?" 

"You  see  you  make  yourself  so  odious  to  me.  How 
can  you  expect  me  to — " 

"I  ask  you  plainly,  Petrina,  do  you  wish  me  to  live 
apart  from  you?" 

"  It  isn't  for  me  to  answer  that  question,  Harry.  You 
can  do  entirely  as  you  please.  So  long  as  you  choose 
to  live  in  this  house — " 

"  I  shall  have  to  rule  it,"  he  interrupted.  "  So  long  as 
I  choose  to  live  in  this  house  I  can  allow  no  such  ex 
hibitions  as  those  with  which  we  have  been  entertained 
to-night." 

250 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"That  is  a  subject  which  I  suppose  it  would  be  use 
less  for  us  to  discuss/'  she  remarked,  in  the  same  quiet 
voice.  "  But  I  think  I  may  say  without  being  ungener 
ous  that  it  is  only  fair  that  one  thing  should  be  re 
membered." 

"  And  that  thing  is—?" 

"That  in  this  house  I  am  mistress." 

"But  I  master." 

She  raised  her  eyebrows,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  So  long  as  I  have  the  honor  of  being  your  husband/' 
he  continued,  "  I  am  the  head  of  this  house  or  any  other 
in  which  we  live.  I  am  the  first.  You  are  the  second. 
I  lead.  You  follow.  I—" 

"  You  may  spare  me  any  further  eloquence,  Harry.  I 
know  of  no  such  theory  of  marriage  as  that,  and  shall 
not  now  begin  to  learn .  But  I  should  like  to  ask  a  ques 
tion.  Why  did  you  come  back  this  afternoon? — so  soon?" 

"  Because  I  loved  you,  and  the  time  seemed  long  to 
be  away." 

"  It  was  a  mistake,"  she  said.     "  And  I  would  beg — ' 

"I  am  waiting,  Petrina." 

"I  scarcely  know  how  to  put  it,  in  order  to  say  it 
gently.  I  would  beg  for  your  v^ake  as  much  as  for  my 
own,"  she  went  on  very  slowly,  "that  when  next  you 
go  away  it  may  be — to  stay  away." 

There  was  a  long  minute  of  silent  tension.  He  looked 
at  her,  but  her  face  was  turned  from  his. 

"  Would  you  kindly  ring  the  bell?"  she  said  at  last. 
" I  want  my  maid  here." 

Hot  words  were  burning  on  Vassall's  tongue;  but 
he  had  learned  to  take  his  cue  from  her.  Whatever 
happened  they  must  not  quarrel.  They  must  keep  their 
passions  within  the  limits  of  comedy.  They  could 
express  themselves  with  force,  but  there  must  be  no 
recrimination. 

251 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

He  rang  the  bell. 

"Is  there  anything  more  I  can  do  for  you?"  he  asked. 

"No,  thank  you,  Harry." 

"Then  shall  we  say  Good-night?" 

"Yes,  if  you  like.     Good-night." 

She  offered  him  her  cheek.  He  kissed  her  and  turned 
from  her. 

"This  is  the  end,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  went  out. 
"  I  shall  go  away  in  the  morning. " 


CHAPTER  III 

BUT  in  the  morning  Petrina  had  repented  of  her 
words.  She  waked  early  and  listened  to  hear  her  hus 
band  stirring  in  the  adjoining  room.  She  meant  to  be 
very  gracious  to  him  when  he  came  in.  He  had  been 
unkind  to  her;  he  was  making  her  unhappy  with  his 
Puritan  narrow  -  mindedness  and  unsocial  ways ;  but 
she  would  forgive  him.  So  she  propped  herself  up 
with  pillows  and  waited  for  him  with  a  smile. 

When  he  entered  his  face  was  gray  and  grave.  There 
were  dark  rings  under  his  eyes,  and  he  looked  tired. 

"  He  has  been  thinking  about  it/'  she  said  to  herself ; 
"but  I  can  cheer  him." 

He  had  been  thinking ;  but  Petrina  did  not  know  how 
deeply. 

"I've  wounded  him,"  she  thought  again,  "but  I  can 
heal  him." 

He  had  been  wounded ;  but  Petrina  did  not  know  how 
fatally. 

On  going  to  his  room  he  had  put  out  the  light,  and 
then  in  the  darkness  had  made  what  seemed  to  him  the 
necessary  plans.  If  he  would  save  his  marriage  from 
resulting  like  that  of  Humphrey  de  Bohun,  he  himself 
must  stand  at  the  helm  of  their  life  and  keep  it  in  its 
course.  He  blamed  himself  for  having  allowed  Pe 
trina  too  much  of  her  own  way.  She  was  young  and 
rich,  he  said;  it  was  not  strange,  therefore,  that  she 
should  love  pleasure  and  be  led  astray  by  fashion.  It 
was  his  place  to  see  that  she  was  guided  rightly.  One 

253 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

thing  above  all  was  certain — he  would  not  remain  in  a 
position  from  which  she  could  ask  him  to  go.  If  they 
were  to  have  any  life  together  it  should  be  on  his  ground, 
and  never  again  on  hers. 

"Come  in,"  she  called,  when  she  heard  him  knock. 
"Don't  be  shocked  at  me  for  not  being  up.  I'm  very 
lazy/' 

She  held  her  right  hand  towards  him  with  a  smile. 
He  kissed  it  coldly,  and  withdrew  to  a  little  distance. 

"How  tired  you  look!"  she  remarked.  "Haven't 
you  slept  well?" 

"Not  very  well." 

"That's  because  you  went  to  bed  in  a  bad  temper. 
Amiable  people  always  sleep.  No,  no;  don't  raise 
that  curtain,"  she  cried,  as  he  walked  towards  a  win 
dow.  "  I'm  not  ready  yet  for  the  fierce  light  that  beats 
upon  a  throne." 

"  I  want  to  say  something  before  I  go  out,"  he  said, 
coining  back  towards  the  bed  again. 

"  Then  come  and  say  it  here.  Sit  down  on  the  side  of 
the  bed.  There;  now  we  can  talk. " 

She  knew  he  was  going  to  apologize,  and  so  was  pre 
pared  to  pardon.  As  he  looked  at  her  his  courage  al 
most  failed  him,  but  he  nerved  himself  to  go  on. 

"I  want  to  say  something  before  I  go  out,"  he  re 
peated. 

"Say  on,"  she  consented,  letting  her  hand  rest  on 
his. 

"You  asked  me  last  night  to  stay  away  when  next  I 
go  away." 

"Surely  you  aren't  going  to  take  that  to  heart,  Harry 
dear?" 

There  was  something  frightened  in  her  tone,  though 
she  continued  to  smile  at  him. 

"Could  I  do  otherwise  than  take  it  to  heart?    Words 

254 


Let   Not   Man   Put  Asunder 

like  that,  dearest,  can  never  be  forgotten  or  explained 
away." 

"But  you  know  I  didn't  mean  them." 

"I  think  you  did  for  the  moment,  though  now  you 
may  be  willing  to  take  them  back  and  let  me  stay." 

"I  am  willing,  Harry." 

"Thank  you,  dear."' 

"I  want  you  to  stay." 

"That's  because  you  are  patient  with  me.  But  you 
know  a  moment  may  come  when  the  words  which  are 
now  withdrawn  may  be  repeated." 

"If  so  we  can  talk  about  it  then.     We  can  wait — " 

"No,  Petrina.  That  is  precisely  what  we  cannot  do. 
I,  at  least,  cannot  permit  it  to  be  possible  that  such 
words  should  be  said  again." 

"You're  very  disagreeable,"  she  complained,  with 
drawing  her  hand.  "I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 
You  made  me  angry  last  night,  and  so  I  spoke.  If  you 
would  only  try  to  please  me  more  you  would  not  bring 
such  things  upon  yourself.  As  it  is,  I  am  willing  to 
overlook  your  attitude  of  hostility  to  me,  and  let  the 
past  be  past.  We  can  begin  again." 

"Exactly,  Petrina.  We  must  begin  again,  but  un 
der  other  conditions  and  on  other  grounds." 

"It  isn't  the  grounds  and  conditions  that  need  to 
be  changed,  Harry  dear;  it's  you.  If  you  wouldn't 
always  be  to  me  what  water  is  to  fire — " 

"I  didn't  come  to  discuss,  Petrina,  my  darling,"  he 
said,  very  gently.  "  I  came  to  tell  you  my  plans.  The 
time  is  past  for  talking.  I  must  act." 

"Go  on.     I  am  listening." 

"I  have  decided  that  we  had  better  leave  this  house 
and  go  to  mine.  That  is  where  we  belong  and  where 
we  shall  both  be  in  our  proper  places." 

"You  know  my  feeling  about  that." 
255 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"Yes,  and  I  have  considered  it.  I  see  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  doing  so  any  longer.  The  life  I  have  to  lead 
is  not  consistent  with  the  noise  and  show  arid  waste  of 
time  of  that  which  we've  been  leading." 

"You  have  indicated  it  sufficiently  by  your  man 
ners." 

"  You're  very  young,  Petrina,  and  I  shouldn't  be  do 
ing  my  duty  towards  you  if  I  didn't  show  you  that  you 
are  making  mistakes.  You  will  thank  me  when  you 
are  older — " 

"If  you  are  working  for  that,"  she  said,  with  a  ner 
vous  laugh,  "  I  beg  you  to  spare  your  pains." 

"For  taking  you  out  of  a  life,"  he  went  on,  steadily, 
"which  pursues  a  useless  end  by  foolish  means,  and 
with  which  you  yourself  must  become  dissatisfied. 
Therefore  I  intend  to  live  in  Cambridge." 

"And  may  I  ask  when?  Or  is  it  enough  for  me  to 
wait  until  you  give  the  word  to  go?" 

"  At  once ;  to-day.  When  I  leave  the  office  this  after 
noon,  I  shall  join  you  there." 

"But  it  isn't  possible." 

"Our  rooms  are  ready.  The  house  is  ours.  You 
have  nothing  to  do  but  give  your  maid  the  necessary 
orders." 

"It  isn't  possible,  Harry,"  she  repeated,  in  a  tone  of 
consternation.  "  You  must  be  crazy  to  think  of  it  at  all. " 

"Nothing  is  possible  but  that." 

"What  would  Mrs.  Vassall  say  to  have  us  descend 
on  her  like  that,  with  Emmy  and  Hippolyta  already 
there?" 

"  My  mother  is  always  prepared  for  us.  She  is  only 
waiting.  She  knows,  too,  that  when  you  come  there, 
it  will  be  as  mistress." 

"I  may  go  some  time — for  a  week  or  two.  I  never 
said  I  wouldn't  do  that." 

256 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"We  must  go  to-day.     We  have  nowhere  else  to  go." 
"Why,  what  do  3^011  mean?     Isn't  this  house  our 
home?" 

"Yours,  perhaps,  dear,  but  not  mine.  After  what 
you  asked  me  to  do  last  night,  it  can  never  be  mine 
again." 

"  But  I've  already  told  you  that  I  didn't  mean — 
'"You  can't  take  back  such  words,  however  much 
you  may  regret  them.  I  may  see  that  they  were 
spoken  hastily,  but  my  own  self-respect  compels  me 
to  act  upon  them.  I  can't  come  back  here  again,  dear. 
We  must  go  to  Cambridge." 

"You're  not  only  unreasonable,  but  cruel,  Harry." 
"It's  the  cruelty  of  circumstances.     It  isn't  mine." 
"  You  combine  the  folly  of  a  child  with  the  brutality 
of  a  man." 

"We  must  go  to  Cambridge,"  he  repeated,  doggedly. 
"You  subject  me  to  gratuitous  indignity." 
"It  is  useless  to  go  on  talking,  dear.     I've  told  you 
my  wishes.     I  have  no  more  to  say." 

"Then  I  have,"  she  cried,  with  energy.  "But  it  is 
only  this — that  I  shall  not  go." 

"I  should  advise  you  to  reflect  upon  that,"  he  said, 
rising  and  indicating  that  he  meant  to  depart.  "  Your 
not  doing  so  would  be  very  grave." 

When  he  had  gone,  Petrina  buried  her  face  in  the 
pillows  and  burst  into  tears.  She  felt  herself  at  once 
ill-treated  and  to  blame.  She  regretted  her  words  of 
the  previous  night,  but  it  was  monstrous  on  his  part 
not  to  let  her  take  them  back. 

It  was,  in  fact,  so  monstrous  that  she  found  it  im 
possible  to  believe  that  he  meant  it.  She  had  no  real 
ization  of  the  degree  to  which  she  had  wounded  him, 
and,  therefore,  but  slight  perception  that  he  could  be 
resolved.  If  there  were  no  other  way,  she  could,  per- 
«  257 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

haps,  drag  herself  to  Cambridge;  and  yet  she  felt  that 
his  insistence  upon  it  would  be  an  outrage. 

As  the  day  wore  on  the  conviction  grew  upon  her 
that  he  must  relent.  It  was  so  unlike  him  to  hold  out 
in  anger  against  her!  Sooner  or  later  he  had  always 
come  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet.  There  had  been 
differences  between  them  in  which  she  knew  that  he 
was  right;  and  yet  he  had  been  the  first  to  return  and 
plead  for  her  forgiveness.  So  he  would  return  again, 
she  said;  but  this  time  she  would  forestall  his  humility 
by  her  own. 

Pallid,  anxious,  and  restless,  she  wandered  all  day 
from  room  to  room,  counting  the  hours  as  they  went  by. 

"Don't  let  any  one  in,"  she  ordered  a  servant,  as  the 
short  winter  afternoon  closed  down,  "  unless  it  should 
be  Lady  or  Miss  de  Bohun.  Or  my  mother  or  Mrs. 
Vassall,  of  course,"  she  added.  Then  she  began  again 
to  wander  from  room  to  room,  listening  intently  for  the 
familiar  sound  of  Harry's  latch-key  at  the  door. 

The  lights  were  lit  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  tea 
brought  in,  when  Hippolyta  was  announced.  Petrina 
was  glad  of  some  one  to  divert  her  thoughts.  Besides, 
Hippolyta  would  tell  her  if  Harry  had  sent  any  message 
as  to  their  coming  to  Cambridge. 

"Mamma  told  me  to  wait  for  her  here,"  the  girl  said 
as  she  entered,  and  kissed  Petrina.  Hippolyta  looked 
older  than  when  in  England;  with  her  height,  her  dig 
nity,  and  her  repose,  she  had  the  air  of  a  woman  rather 
than  of  a  girl. 

Since  their  coming  to  America  Petrina  had  begun 
to  find  Hippolyta  a  little  trying.  "  She  is  so  aggres 
sively  good,"  she  had  said  to  Mrs.  Faneuil.  "She  is 
like  a  living  reproach  to  the  rest  of  us.  How  Humphrey 
and  Emmy  should  have  come  by  such  a  child  passes  my 
understanding.  The  truth  is  that  she  is  a  Vassall,  with 

258 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

the  Vassalls'  tendency  to  thank  the  Lord  that  they 
are  not  as  other  men.  The  law  of  atavism  has  cut  a 
terrible  caprice  in  giving  an  English  girl  a  New  Eng 
land  conscience.  The  one  is  serious  enough  without  the 
other.  When  they  go  together  you  have  goodness  in 
fused  not  only  with  Pilgrim  zeal  and  Puritan  severity, 
but  with  English  pugnacity  as  well.  That's  Hippolyta. 
The  combination  doubtless  makes  for  heroism,  but  it  is 
awful  to  chaperon  at  a  dinner  or  a  dance." 

But  to-day  Petrina  was  glad  to  see  Hippolyta  enter. 

"  So  your  mother  is  coming  here?" 

"Yes,"  the  girl  answered.  "She  has  just  gone  in  to 
the  Quiricy  Brattles.  She  begs  you  to  keep  some  tea 
for  her,  as  they  never  give  her  any  there." 

It  was  a  relief  to  Petrina  that  Hippolyta  said  nothing 
of  the  proposed  move  to  Cambridge.  It  was  evident 
that  Vassall  had  not  informed  his  mother.  In  that 
case  he  could  only  mean  to  return  to  Beacon  Street. 
As  she  poured  out  Hippolyta 's  tea,  Petrina  felt  as  if  a 
weight  were  lifted  from  her  heart. 

As  she  and  Hippolyta  chatted  of  things  in  Cam 
bridge,  the  servant  entered  with  a  card  on  a  silver 
salver. 

"  Didn't  you  say  I  was  not  receiving,  Marks?"  Petrina 
asked,  impatiently. 

"Yes'm,"  the  man  replied,  "but  the  gentleman  said 
he  knew  you'd  see  him." 

"  Why,  it's  your  father,"  Petrina  cried,  as  she  took  the 
card. 

"  How  delightful ! ' '  Hippolyta  exclaimed.  "  I  thought 
he  was  in  Chicago." 

"Show  Sir  Humphrey  up,"  Petrina  said  to  the  ser 
vant,  "and  bring  some  more  hot  water." 

"But  mother  will  come  in,"  whispered  Hippolyta,  as 
they  heard  Sir  Humphrey  approach.  "She  wouldn't 

259 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

like  to  meet  him  without  warning.     It  would  upset  her. 
What  shall  we  do?" 

"Slip  out  through  that  room,"  Petrina  whispered 
back.  "You  can  meet  her  at  the  door  and  come  in 
together." 

Hippolyta  parted  the  portieres  and  passed  into  the 
next  room  just  as  her  father  entered. 

" How  nice  this  is,  Humphrey!"  the  girl  heard  Petrina 
say.  "  And  Gentian !  Why,  you  take  my  breath  away. 
I  didn't  know  you  were  there." 

Hippolyta  paused  behind  the  hangings.  She  knew 
it  was  not  right;  but  a  sudden  fear  held  her  spell-bound. 

"  I  didn't  send  in  my  name,"  Gentian  said,  in  her 
deep,  distinct  voice.  "  I  thought  I  would  come  in  under 
Humphrey's  banner." 

"  I'm.  very  glad  to  see  you  both.  Sit  down  and  have 
some  tea." 

Petrina  resumed  her  seat,  but  the  others  remained 
standing. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  two?"  Petrina  asked, 
looking  up  at  them  curiously.  "Humphrey,  you're 
smiling  and  blushing  like  a  big  boy.  What  have  you 
been  doing?  Why  aren't  you  in  Chicago?" 

"Because  this  little  woman  brought  me  back,"  he 
answered,  turning  awkwardly  towards  Gentian. 

"What  little  woman?  Do  sit  down,  Gentian.  You 
look  like  two  bad  children,  standing  there  and  looking 
so  foolish.  What  have  you  been  up  to?" 

"  Oh,  do  tell  her,  Humphrey,"  Gentian  pleaded, 
slipping  behind  him  and  playfully  pushing  him  for 
ward. 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  he  began,  manfully—" the  fact 
is—" 

"Yes?  Yes?"  Petrina  interposed,  impatiently.  "Be 
quick." 

260 


"That  we're  married/'  Sir  Humphrey  gasped,  and 
then  burst  into  a  loud,  embarrassed  laugh. 

Dumfounded,  Petrina  sat  looking  up  at  them. 

"Well?"  said  Gentian,  at  last.  "Have  you  nothing 
to  say  to  us?" 

"Wait  till  I  get  my  breath/'  Petrina  replied.  "It's 
enough  to  upset  one's  senses.  But  I  must  congratu 
late  you,  I  suppose.  Well,  Humphrey,"  she  contin 
ued,  rising,  "here's  my  hand  on  it.  I  hope  it's  all 
right.  It's  a  little  sudden,  Gentian ;  but  I  trust  you're 
going  to  be  happy." 

Gentian  threw  her  arms  about  Petrina,  and  the  two 
embraced. 

"Gad,  here's  Polly!"  Sir  Humphrey  cried.  "I  didn't 
know  she  was  in  the  house." 

Petrina  released  herself  hurriedly.  Hippolyta  had 
re-entered  the  room,  and  was  standing  nervously 
clutching  the  closed  portieres  in  her  hand. 

"Now  for  a  scene  if  not  a  scandal,"  thought  Petrina. 
"Good  gracious!  how  shall  I  manage  them?" 

But  Sir  Humphrey  plunged  in  boldly. 

"I'm  delighted  to  see  you,  Polly,"  he  said,  taking 
her  hand  and  kissing  her  cheek.  "You've  arrived 
right  in  the  nick  of  time.  Let  me  introduce  you  to  your 
new — " 

"New  what,  papa?"  the  girl  asked,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  Gentian. 

"Well,  I  mean  my  wife,"  Sir  Humphrey  finished, 
lamely. 

Gentian  stood  smiling  nervously. 

"I'm  your  new  mother,  dear,"  she  said,  going  up  to 
Hippolyta  and  holding  out  her  hand.  "You  remem 
ber  me,  don't  you?  At  Orpington  Park,  you  know — " 

"Yes,  I  remember  you,  Miss  Tyrell,"  Hippolyta  said, 
mechanically,  but  not  taking  the  proffered  hand. 

261 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"I'm  your  new  mother,  dear/'  Gentian  repeated, 
quailing  inwardly,  but  wearing  her  smile  undauntedly. 

"I  have  a  mother." 

"Yes,  dear,  but  I  come  to  bring  you  an  added  love." 

"  Do  you  think  we  need  you?  Do  you  think  we  shall 
accept  you?" 

"I  am  your  father's  wife,  Hippolyta,"  Gentian  in 
sisted,  the  smile  waning  and  her  face  growing  a  little 
pale. 

"I  have  called  you  Miss  Tyrell.  Will  you  not  re 
turn  the  courtesy  by  calling  me  Miss  de  Bohun?" 

"  But  in  a  family — "  Gentian  began  to  protest. 

"You  are  not  in  our  family,  Miss  Tyrell." 

"I  must  ask  you  to  remember,"  said  Sir  Humphrey 
to  his  daughter,  "that  this  is  Lady  de  Bohun." 

"My  mother  is  Lady  de  Bohun,  papa.  There  is  no 
other." 

"Then  who  am  I?"  Gentian  cried,  ill-advisedly. 

"I  wonder  you  raise  that  question,  Miss  Tyrell," 
Hippolyta  said,  scornfully;  "but  since  you  do,  it  isn't 
difficult  to  answer.  You  may  bear  some  sort  of  legal 
ized  relation  to  my  father — exactly  what,  it  would  be 
impossible  to  define ;  but  you  are  not  in  any  real  sense 
of  the  word  his  wife.  People  will  feel  about  you,  you 
probably  feel  about  yourself,  that  you  are  the  latest 
member  of  that  company  of  my  father's  friends  in 
which  Miss  Hetty  Vienne  and  Miss  Lucy  Fitzalan  are 
your  predecessors  and  companions." 

"How  dare  you?"  Gentian's  voice  was  scarcely 
audible;  and  her  face  and  lips  were  white.  Sir  Hum 
phrey  and  Petrina  stood  aghast. 

"The  daring  isn't  mine,  Miss  Tyrell,"  Hippolyta  re 
plied,  hardly.  "  It  is  that  of  a  woman  who,  with  so  little 
to  gain,  puts  herself  in  a  position  in  which  she  never  can 
be  regarded  as  other  than  a  superior  sort  of  courtesan." 

262 


Let  Not  Man  Put    Asunder 

"Humphrey!"  cried  Gentian,  "am  I  to  be  subjected 
to  this?" 

"Only,  Miss  Tyrell,"  Hippolyta  hastened  to  reply — 
"only  when  you  thrust  yourself  among  people  who 
still  have  some  respect  for  the  sanctity  of  family  love 
and  of  domestic  purity.  There  a  woman  of  your  class 
may  expect  to  find  pity,  but  never  mercy." 

With  a  little  cry  Gentian  sank  into  a  seat. 

"Take  me  away,  Humphrey,"  she  sobbed.  "I 
didn't  look  for  this.  I  can't  bear  it." 

"Hippolyta,"  said  the  father,  white  to  the  lips,  and 
quivering  in  the  helplessness  of  his  rage,  "if  I  knew 
any  way  to  punish  you — " 

"Oh,  you've  found  that,  papa,"  she  interrupted, 
with  bitter  quietness.  "  It  is  in  your  own  shame ;  it  is 
in  the  dishonor  to  which  you  have  brought  us  all.  That's 
my  punishment.  Some  day  it  will  be  yours.  You 
can  see  it  is  already  hers." 

"Take  me  away!  Take  me  away,  Humphrey!" 
moaned  Gentian. 

"No,  Gentian,"  said  Petrina,  recovering  from  the 
suddenness  of  Hippolyta's  attack,  and  coming  for 
ward.  "  You  are  in  my  house  and  under  my  protec 
tion.  A  great  injustice  has  been  done  you.  You  are 
Humphrey's  wife  by  everything  that  we  call  law. 
Hippolyta,  you  are  a  wicked  and  malignant  girl." 

"  You  may  think  what  you  like  about  me,  Petrina," 
Hippolyta  returned,  without  losing  her  cold  composure. 
"But  you  know  in  your  own  heart  that  my  mother  is 
my  father's  wife,  and  that  this  lady  is — the  thing  which 
I  have  said.  Good-bye,  father,"  she  said,  in  another 
tone,  turning  towards  Sir  Humphrey.  "When  you 
have  broken  off  this  connection,  as  I  think  you  have 
broken  off  the  others,  I  will  see  you  again,  but  not  be 
fore.  Good-bye,  Petrina." 

263 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

She  pushed  aside  the  portieres  and  slipped  out.  There 
was  no  sound  but  that  of  Gentian's  sobbing  until  they 
heard  the  street  door  close  behind  Hippolyta. 

With  Sir  Humphrey  kneeling  on  one  side  and  Petrina 
on  the  other,  Gentian  was  comforted  into  calm  again. 
Suddenly  Petrina  remembered  that  Emilia  was  soon  to 
arrive. 

"We  mustn't  have  another  scene,"  she  thought. 
"You  two  stay  here,"  she  said,  aloud.  "Gentian, 
stop  crying,  and  give  Humphrey  his  tea.  Don't  leave 
this  room  till  I  come  back  again. " 

Petrina  left  them  and  carefully  closed  the  doors  be 
hind  her.  Then  she  took  her  station  at  a  window 
which  commanded  the  approach  to  the  house.  Pres 
ently  Lady  de  Bohun,  looking  dainty  and  fragile, 
and  wonderfully  young  for  her  years,  came  briskly  up 
the  steps.  Petrina  opened  the  door  before  Emilia  could 
ring. 

"Have  you  seen  Hippolyta?"  Petrina  asked,  draw 
ing  her  sister-in-law  into  a  small  waiting-room. 

"No.     Isn't  she  here?" 

"She  was,  but  she  went  away,"  said  Petrina,  shut 
ting  the  door  behind  her. 

"What  is  it?"  Lady  de  Bohun  asked,  with  an  air 
of  mild  surprise.  "How  mysterious  you  seem." 

"Sit  down,  dear.     I  must  tell  you  something." 

"Is  it  about  Harry?"  Lady  de  Bohun  asked,  taking 
a  seat  and  beginning  to  unfasten  her  veil. 

"No;  it's  something  very  serious." 

"  Then  it's  about  Humphrey?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  He's  ill,"  Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  with  a  sudden  pallor. 

"No;  he's  quite  well." 

"Then  what  is  it,  Petrina?  Don't  make  so  much 
mystery,  for  Heaven's  sake." 

264 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunde 

"He's  here,  Emmy." 

"Here?  Where?  I'm  not  afraid  of  him.  He  won't 
eat  me." 

"  He's  in  this  house." 

The  color  mounted  to  Lady  de  Bohun's  cheek,  and  a 
light  flashed  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  Petrina  dear,"  she  said,  softly,  "it's  so  long 
since  I've  seen  him,  and  I  want  to,  so  much.  I  know 
now  that  I  care  for  him,  and  that  you  can't  dissolve  a 
marriage  by  a  decision  of  a  judge.  Where  is  he?  In 
the  drawing-room?  Let  me  go  in  alone.  Give  us  just 
a  minute  together." 

She  attempted  to  rise,  but  Petrina  pushed  her  gently 
back  into  her  seat. 

"Ernmy,  dear  Emmy,  I've  got  bad  news  for  you. 
Humphrey  is  here,  but  he's  married  again." 

That  moment  was  the  end  of  all  Emilia  de  Bohun's 
well-conserved,  youthful  prettiness.  It  faded  second 
by  second  from  her  face,  and  never  bloomed  again. 
But  she  did  not  strive  nor  cry.  She  neither  winced 
nor  flinched.  She  would  not  suffer  even  Petrina  to 
see  to  what  depth  she  had  the  power  to  feel. 

"How  queer!"  she  said,  with  a  little  nervous  gasp. 
"  Humphrey  married  again !  Well,  well,  well !  and  just 
as  I  was  beginning  to  fancy — but,  of  course,  it  was 
only  fancv.  I  suppose  it's  Gentian  Tyrell?" 

"Yes."" 

"I  suspected  it  from  the  first.  I  knew  she  was  born 
to  intrigue.  And  poor  Humphrey  is  such  a  goose. 
He's  always  clay  where  a  woman  is  the  potter." 

They  sat  awhile  in  silence.  Lady  de  Bohun  looked 
musingly  at  the  point  of  her  tiny  shoe. 

"How  queer!"  she  said  again.  "Humphrey  with 
another  wife !  It  makes  me  feel  quite  desorientee.  What 
is  she  going  to  call  herself?" 

265 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"I  suppose  she  is  Lady  de  Bohun." 

"Then  there  are  two  of  us.  It's  quite  Mahometan, 
isn't  it?  But  I  am  the  Sultana,  and  she  is  only  the 
odalisque.  Well,  Petrina  dear,  I  shall  go  away  and 
think  of  it.  Luckily  there  are  lots  of  good  fish  in  the 
sea".  If  it  Weren't  for  that  I  might  feel  worse  than  I  do. 
Well,  well,  well !  to  think  of  Humphrey  with  two  wives. 
I  can't  get  over  it.  I  shall  get  used  to  it,  no  doubt, 
in  time — " 

"When  you've  married  Gerald  Bertie." 

Lady  de  Bohun  laughed  and  rose. 

"I  think  that  will  take  more  pluck  than  I  can 
command;  but — " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  began  to  put  on 
her  veil  again. 

"Don't  go  yet,  Emmy,"  Petrina  said;  "I've  some 
thing  more  to  tell  you." 

"Gracious!"  exclaimed  Lady  de  Bohun,  sitting  down 
again.  "You're  more  exciting  to-day  than  an  extra 
special." 

"A  great  injustice  has  been  done  Humphrey  and 
Gentian." 

"  If  Nemesis  has  been  quick  to  act  you  won't  expect 
me  to  complain.  I  feel  as  if  she  had  been  unduly  hur 
ried  in  overtaking  me;  therefore — " 

"  It's  something  that  you  could  put  right  if  you  only 
would." 

"And  I  won't." 

"  Hippolyta  has  been  here.     She  saw  them." 

"Then  I'm  sorry  for  them,  if  she  spoke  her  mind." 

"Which  is  just  what  she  did." 

"Bravo,  Polly!" 

"You  wouldn't  say  that,  Emmy,  if  you  had  heard 
how  she  insulted  Gentian." 

"Well,  I  didn't  hear." 

266 


Let    Not    Man    Put    Asunder 

"But  I  think  you  ought  to  know.  She  told  her  to 
her  face,  and  before  Humphrey,  that  she  belonged  to 
the  same  class  as  Lucy  Fitzalan  and  Hetty  Vienne." 

"  She's  her  mother's  daughter.  I  shouldn't  go  so  far 
as  that  myself,  but  it's  precisely  what  I  feel." 

"  To  poor  Gentian  it  cut  like  a  whip-lash  across  the 
face — and  to  Humphrey,  too." 

"Naturally.     It  would  to  anybody." 

"And  I  think,  Emmy  dear,"  Petrina  pursued,  "that 
under  all  the  circumstances  you  ought  to  see  if  you 
cannot  make  some  reparation.  You  ought  to  recognize 
their  marriage.  It  would  mean  everything  to  them." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"Then,"  said  Petrina,  with  dignity,  "you  are  less 
reasonable  and  less  good  than  I  supposed  you  wrere. 
You  know  I  dislike  Gentian,  but  I  dislike  injustice  more. 
I  think  you  ought  to  remember  what  you  have  done  to 
Humphrey.  He  was  a  good  husband  as  husbands  go. 
He  wasn't  everything  you  could  wish,  but  you  weren't 
particular  about  that.  You  let  him  go  his  own  way 
until  it  suited  your  purposes  to  drive  him  from  you. 
You  did  it  in  order  to  be  free  to  marry  some  one  else. 
It  was  not  his  wish;  he  only  accepted  yours.  You 
gave  him  his  entire  liberty  when  you  took  your  own. 
And  now,  because  he  acts  in  accordance  with  the  free 
dom  which  you  yourself  insisted  on — " 

"For  goodness'  sake,  stop,  Petrina  1"  Lady  de  Bohun 
cried,  springing  to  her  feet.  "Where  are  they?  If 
Humphrey's  feeling  badly,  I  suppose  I  must  do  what 
I  can  to  comfort  him.  It  isn't  for  her,  mind,"  she  added, 
as  Petrina  opened  the  door  and  led  the  way  towards  the 
drawing-room. 

"0  Lord,  help  me  to  carry  it  through  without  hys 
terics,"  Lady  de  Bohun  breathed  as  she  passe'd  down 
the  hall.  It  was  her  first  real  prayer  in  years. 

267 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Sir  Humphrey  and  Gentian  rose  with  something  like 
terror  as  they  saw  Emilia  enter;  but  her  outstretched 
hand  reassured  them. 

"I've  heard  the  news/' she  cried,  gayly,  as  she  went 
towards  Gentian,  "and  I've  come  to  pronounce  my 
malediction." 

"Oh,  Emmy,  how  kind  you  are  !"  Gentian  said,  the 
color  returning  to  her  white,  tear-stained  face  as  they 
grasped  hands. 

"Not  at  all,"  returned  Emilia.  "I'm  a  dog  in  the 
manger;  but  I  couldn't  resist  coming  in  to  see  how 
you  looked.  As  for  you,  Humphrey,"  she  went  on, 
offering  her  hand  to  him,  "  I  shall  never,  never  forgive 
you.  At  least,  I  shouldn't  if  you  weren't  one  of  the 
nicest  men  I  ever —  Oh,  Petrina,"  she  cried,  ner 
vously,  "  don't  stare  at  me  like  that,  as  if  I  were  shov 
elling  earth  into  my  own  grave!  Why  don't  you  give 
me  some  tea?" 

"Let  me  make  it  for  you,"  said  Gentian,  hastening 
to  sit  down  at  the  tea-table. 

Sir  Humphrey  laughed  in  his  boyish,  embarrassed 
way. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,  Emmy,"  he  began. 

"You  never  do.  You  never  did.  You  never  will/' 
she  interrupted,  as  she  took  her  cup  of  tea.  "  Gentian, 
you'll  find  some  day  what  a  terrible  thing  it  is  to  live 
with  a  dumb  man  who  can  do  nothing  but  smile  till 
he  blinds  you.  But  I  have  some  tips  to  give  you  when 
we  are  quite  alone.  How  good  this  tea  is !  Humphrey, 
please  hand  me  the  biscuits." 

She  sat  down  on  the  window-seat.  Humphrey 
brought  the  biscuits  and  slipped  into  the  place  beside 
her.  Petrina  and  Gentian  were  whispering  over  the 
tea-kettle  and  spirit-lamp. 

"This  is  a  rum  go/'  Sir  Humphrey  said,  in  a 

268 


low  voice,    as   he   held   the   plate   of    biscuits    before 
Emilia. 

"It's  a  rum  life,"  she  returned,  laconically. 

"  It's  queer  to  meet  like  this,  Emmy.  But,  then,  you 
haven't  any  heart." 

"I  was  just  finding  out  that  I  had  one  when  you 
broke  it,  Humphrey  dear." 

"For  God's  sake,  Emmy!  You  don't  mean  that  you 
would  have  made  it  up?" 

"  I  mean  only  that  it's  a  comfort  to  think  that  in  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  they  neither  marry  nor  are  given 
in  marriage,  and  that  the  crooked  is  made  straight.  Do 
take  those  biscuits  back  to  Gentian.  You're  letting 
them  fall  on  the  floor." 

Before  Humphrey  could  return  to  her,  Emilia  had 
risen. 

"I  must  go  now,  good  people.  Shed  a  tear  for  me 
when  I'm  gone.  Good-bye,  Gentian.  A  year  hence 
we  shall  be  comparing  notes  over  the  nicest  and  the 
worst  of  men.  Good-bye,  Humphrey." 

They  clasped  hands,  and  stood  for  a  moment  eyes 
deep  in  eyes.  Gentian  felt  a  sudden  sinking  of  the 
heart.  "After  all,"  she  thought  with  a  pang,  "it  is 
they  who  must  be  truly  man  and  wife.  He  and  I  can 
never  be  to  each  other  what  they  have  been.  Is  it  pos 
sible  that  the  girl  was  right?" 

But  she  took  Emilia's  hand  again  and  whispered  a 
"God  bless  you!"  as  the  first  wife  left  the  room. 

"You're  a  brick,  Emmy,"  said  Petrina  at  the  door. 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  de  Bohun,  "but  that's  because  I 
am  so  hard.  Humphrey  himself  says  I  haven't  any 
heart." 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  without  much  success. 

Then  she  went  down  the  steps,  and,  entering  the 
carriage,  drove  away  alone  into  the  dark. 

269 


Let    Not    Man    Put    Asunder 

Sir  Humphrey  and  Gentian  took  their  leave  at  once — 
he  grave  as  if  with  a  new  thought,  she  eloquent  with 
gratitude. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  them,  Petrina  turned  in 
stinctively  to  look  at  the  tall  clock  in  the  vestibule.  It 
was  after  seven.  Then  she  suddenly  remembered  what 
the  events  of  the  last  hour  had  driven  from  her  mind. 

Vassall  had  not  come. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"BUT  he  will  come/'  Petrina  said  to  herself.  "It  is 
late;  but  he  ivill  come." 

So  she  changed  her  dress  for  the  one  he  liked  best, 
and  clasped  round  her  neck  the  collar  of  pearls  and  dia 
monds  he  had  given  her  when  they  were  married. 

"Mr.  Vassall  has  been  delayed/'  she  said  to  the  ser 
vant  who  came  to  announce  dinner.  "I  will  wait  for 
him." 

But  when  an  hour  had  passed,  she  sat  down  alone. 
She  could  not  eat ;  she  could  only  wait  and  listen. 

"He  has  gone  to  Cambridge,  after  all/'  she  said,  as 
the  tall  clock  struck  nine.  "He  will  dine  there;  but 
afterwards  he  will  miss  me  and  return.  I  feel  as  if  he 
were  already  on  the  way/' 

So  she  kept  her  composure  before  the  servants,  and 
after  dinner  sat  down  in  the  library  to  read.  Her  eyes 
were  upon  the  open  page,  which  she  did  not  turn ;  but 
her  senses  were  strained  to  catch  every  footstep  in  the 
street. 

The  clock  in  the  vestibule  struck  ten. 

"He  will  not' sleep  there,"  she  said.  "He  couldn't 
do  that.  He  will  remember  that  I  am  here  alone,  and 
he  will  come." 

She  closed  her  book,  and  went  down  to  the  waiting- 
room  near  the  door.  There  was  a  small  bow-window 
which  commanded  the  approach  to  the  house  from  both 
directions.  It  was  here  she  had  waited  for  Emmy  in 
the  afternoon.  She  sat  down  again,  and  began  strain- 

271 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

ing  her  eyes  through  the  darkness.  It  was  snowing 
lightly,  and  the  gas-lamps,  in  a  long,  double  line,  shone 
faintly,  like  stars  striving  to  throw  their  light  to  each 
other  through  the  mists  of  space.  Carriages  rolled  by, 
their  rumble  softened  by  the  snow.  People  were  re 
turning  from  theatres  and  dinners.  The  passers-by 
on  foot  were  few.  Only  now  and  then  could  Petrina 
see  some  muffled  figure  come  slowly  into  vision  through 
the  nickering,  fantastic  light.  Then  her  heart  beat 
faster.  Surely  it  was  Harry.  It  was  his  walk.  No — 
no — no — yes — no — and  then  the  man  would  go  by. 

The  clock  in  the  vestibule  struck  eleven.  It  was  the 
Westminster  chime,  and  Petrina  thought  of  the  days 
which  she  and  Harry  had  spent  together  in  London. 

"He  is  waiting  till  .the  last  minute,"  she  said.  "He 
would  not  come  before  for  fear  of  passing  me  on  the 
way.  Dear  Harry!  I've  tried  him  so!  He  is  so 
proud!  But  after  to-night  I  will  be  better.  When  he 
comes  he  will  find  me  humbled." 

She  smiled  to  think  how  she  should  beg  his  pardon — 
so  earnestly  and  meekly — as  she  had  never  expected  to 
beg  any  man's.  She  smiled  again  to  think  of  his  pleas 
ure  and  surprise  at  finding  her  waiting,  certain  that  he 
wrould  come. 

Fewer  carriages  rolled  by  now,  and  it  was  only  at 
long  intervals  that  she  saw  any  one  on  foot.  The  snow 
fell  steadily,  gently,  without  wind ;  it  lay  on  the  streets, 
the  steps,  the  housetops  like  something  deathlike.  She 
shivered.  It  was  growing  colder.  The  clock  in  the  ves 
tibule  tolled  twelve. 

"Tell  the  servants  to  go  to  bed/'  she  said  to  her 
maid,  a  little  later.  "I  will  wait  up  for  Mr.  Vassall. 
Leave  the  street  door  unlocked  and  the  lights  burning, 
and  bring  me  a  shawl." 

Then  she  sat  on  and  on  in  the  darkened  room,  peer- 

272 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

ing  into  the  strange  white  night.  There  were  no  more 
carriages,  no  more  people  going  by  on  foot.  There 
was  nothing  to  see  but  the  snow  and  the  lamps  throw 
ing  out  useless  blots  of  light  into  the  empty  street. 

The  house  was  still,  but  the  silence  was  broken  from 
time  to  time  by  queer,  startling  sounds  which  were 
never  heard  in  the  daytime.  Petrina  drew  the  shawl 
closer  around  her,  and  watched  on.  She  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  striking  of  the  clock,  and  had  scarce 
ly  noticed  when  it  boomed  out  one  and  two. 

"He  has  gone  to  bed  in  Cambridge/'  she  thought, 
"  but  it  will  not  be  to  sleep.  He  will  get  up  again.  He 
will  come  to  me  through  the  snow.  It  is  far,  and  he 
must  walk;  that  is  why  he  is  so  long." 

But  the  clock  tolled  three  and  four  and  five,  and 
Petrina  began  to  realize  that  her  vigil  was  in  vain. 
The  conviction  came  slowly  and  cruelly,  but  with 
crushing  certainty.  She  was  numb  with  cold;  her 
eyes  ached  with  looking  at  the  snow.  When  she  rose 
at  last  she  could  scarcely  drag  herself  to  the  stairway. 
As  she  passed  the  unlighted  music-room  the  portieres 
were  apart,  and  a  great  black  chasm  lay  beyond.  It 
was  strange  to  think  that  only  last  night  Chosette  had 
been  singing  and  La  Madrilena  dancing  there,  for  now 
it  seemed  like  years. 

The  house  looked  strange  and  staring,  with  the  futile 
lights  flaming  in  halls  and  drawing-room.  Petrina  put 
them  out,  and  went  towards  her  own  room.  At  each 
step  she  paused  to  listen.  Slight  sounds  reached  her, 
like  the  rattling  of  a  latch-key  at  the  door.  But  it  was 
nothing ;  no  one  came  in. 

Her  room,  as  she  entered  it,  looked  big  and  unfa 
miliar.  Its  luxury  and  coquetry  smote  her  with  a 
sense  of  vanity.  They  were  like  warmth  and  com 
fort  offered  to  the  dead.  She  stood  for  a  moment  and 

273 


Let    Not   Man    Put  Asunder 

looked  at  herself  in  the  pier-glass.  The  reflection  she 
saw  there — a  deserted  woman  tricked  out  in  pearls  and 
diamonds  and  fashionable  gewgaws — seemed  to  her  gro 
tesque. 

"My  face  has  grown  older  to-night,"  she  thought. 
"It  will  never  look  quite  young  again.  But  it  won't 
matter  now." 

She  was  cold,  and  crossed  to  the  dying  fire.  The 
embers  threw  out  a  little  heat,  and  she  stood  shivering 
before  them.  On  the  mantel-piece  was  Vassall's  pho 
tograph,  framed  in  brown  and  gold. 

"My  husband,"  she  said.  "He  has  left  me.  He 
has  abandoned  me.  How  curious  that  I,  of  all  women, 
should  have  come  to  this." 

Then  over  her  swept  a  great  wave  of  self-pity.  She 
felt  so  forlorn!  She  was  not  accustomed  to  suffering. 
She  had  never  expected  to  call  and  have  no  one  an 
swer,  to  offer  and  have  no  one  willing  to  receive. 

She  bowed  her  brows  upon  her  hands  as  she  leaned 
over  the  framed  portrait  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  the 
tears  came  pouring  down.  She  was  not  used  to  cry 
ing,  and  it  rent  her  sorely. 

"Oh,  Harry,  Harry,"  she  moaned  within  herself, 
"you're  cruel  to  me,  you're  cruel  to  me.  I  sent  you 
away,  but  I  didn't  want  you  to  go.  I  rebelled  against 
you,  but  I  wanted  you  to  master  me.  I  fought  against 
you,  but  I  wanted  you  to  be  stronger  than  I — to  teach 
me,  to  force  me  to  do  right,  to  break  me  to  your  will.  I 
would  have  yielded  if  you  had  pressed.  But  you  didn't. 
You  never  did.  You  never  cared.  You've  been  so  hard 
with  me.  Just  because  I  told  you  to  go,  you  went. 
Oh,  Harry,  I've  sent  you  away.  Now  you're  so  far 
from  me — across  the  river — across  the  snow — and  I'm 
so  cold  and  lonely." 

She  shivered  and  sobbed  till  the  fountain  of  her  tears 

274  . 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

was  dried.     Then  the  silver-toned  clock  in  Vassall's 
dressing-room  struck  six. 

"  He  will  not  come  now,"  she  said,  and  yet  with  every 
sound  she  listened.  She  went  down-stairs  again  and 
looked  out  into  the  street.  It  had  stopped  snowing; 
she  could  see  the  stars.  Heavy  vehicles  began  to  go  by. 
leaving  rough  furrows  in  the  snow-covered  street  behind 
them.  The  city  life  was  waking. 

"He  will  not  come  now,"  she  repeated,  and  went 
up-stairs  again. 

But  something  in  her  was  changing.  She  was  not  a 
woman  to  be  rejected  twice,  nor  to  submit  a  second  time 
to  humiliation.  As  the  dawn  broke  she  held  her  head 
higher,  and  walked  with  haughtier  tread. 

"If  I  have  stabbed  him,"  she  said,  "he  has  stabbed 
me  back ;  only  in  this  case  it  is  the  man  who  has  struck 
the  woman." 

Her  natural  energy  was  returning,  and  with  it  a 
feeling  of  anger  that  he  should  have  been  so  pitiless; 
that  he  should  have  subjected  her  to  this  vain  watching. 

"I  shall  never  forget  to-night,"  she  said.  "It  is  un 
worthy  of  him  to  have  inflicted  this  upon  me." 

Her  self-reproach  for  having  driven  him  away  was 
passing  into  resentment  against  him  for  having  gone. 

She  went  into  his  room.  The  cold  winter  light  was 
just  struggling  through  the  curtains.  Everything 
was  as  usual — the  brushes  on  the  dressing-table,  the 
boots  and  shoes  in  a  long  line  against  the  wall.  Her 
breath  caught  as  she  looked  at  them.  She  had  that 
strange  sense  of  something  irrevocably  over,  with  which 
we  regard  the  homely,  common  things  which  have  been 
used  by  those  whose  earthly  needs  are  ended. 

"0  God!"  she  moaned,  instinctively  calling  on  a 
name  in  which  she  had  no  faith.  "0  God!  0  God! 
0  God!" 

275 


Let   Not    Man  Put   Asunder 

But  she  moved  about  the  room,  aimlessly  touching 
objects  here  and  there,  taking  up  and  putting  down 
costly  toilet  things  which  she  had  given  him.  Here 
amid  what  was  intimate  to  his  very  person,  the  sense  of 
abandonment  smote  her  to  the  core. 

"  He  is  gone — quite  gone/'  she  said;  and  threw  herself 
wearily  upon  his  bed. 

She  could  not  cry  again.  She  had  no  more  tears  to 
shed.  She  could  only  lie  still  and  let  the  iron  enter 
into  her  soul.  The  clock  struck  seven. 

"I  shall  not  forgive  him  now,"  she  said,  "not  even 
when  he  comes." 

But  he  never  came  again. 


part  W 


CHAPTER  I 

/ 

WHEN  two  years  were  over  Petrina  obtained  a 
divorce.  Her  marriage  had  grown  irksome  to  her. 
She  felt  it  less  like  a  chain  which  impeded  her  action 
than  like  a  sin  which  rested  upon  her  conscience.  As 
long  as  she  remained  Henry  Vassall's  wife  her  sepa 
ration  from  him  caused  her  some  self-reproach.  She 
wanted  to  close  this  incident  in  her  life,  to  shut  out  his 
face  from  her  memory.  He  haunted  her,  and  she  meant 
to  lay  the  ghost.  Once  free  from  him,  she  told  herself, 
her  peace  would  no  longer  be  disturbed. 

That  she  had  suffered  none  but  herself  and  one  other 
knew ;  and  that  other  was  not  Vassall.  He  had  judged 
her  as  the  world  had  judged.  He  had  written  her  down 
in  his  book  of  life  as  heartless,  hard,  and  conscienceless, 
while  she  did  her  best  to  justify  the  verdict. 

From  her  night  of  useless  watching  her  spirit  had 
revolted  with  a  sense  of  outraged  womanhood.  For 
the  man  who  had  subjected  her  to  that  she  could  never 
have  anything  but  disdain.  The  unrewarded  waiting 
had  been  more  humiliating  to  her  than  a  blow;  it  had 
been  less  pardonable  than  an  accusation  of  dishonor. 
Time,  she  said,  could  not  soften  the  insult  of  it;  peni 
tence  could  not  wash  it  out  with  tears. 

So  she  rejected  Vassall's  terms  of  peace  and  all  his 
propositions  for  a  reconciliation.  It  is  true  that  he  did 
not  come  with  them  humbly.  His  suggestions  were 
not  pleadings,  but  dictations.  In  all  his  treaties  the 
first  article  was  her  unconditional  surrender — a  clause 

279 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

she  would  not  stoop  even  to  deride.  She  did  not  know 
that  his  own  pride  had  been  wounded.  She  never 
suspected  that  the  arrows  she  thought  harmless  could 
for  him  have  been  tipped  with  poison.  She  did  not 
realize  that  as  the  queen's  frown  sends  the  courtier,  who 
has  presumed  too  far,  back  with  confusion  into  the 
crowd,  to  wait  until  he  is  called  again,  so  Vassall  waited 
too,  counting  it  her  place  to  throw  him  the  first  sign  of 
favor.  His  very  reverence  kept  him  away ;  his  very  belief 
that  she  was  above  him  made  him  resolute  not  to  in 
trude  again.  A  sigh  from  her  would  have  summoned 
him  like  a  slave ;  a  tear  from  her  would  have  swept  over 
his  spirit  like  a  flood.  He  did  not  know  that  through 
all  one  cruel  night  she  had  wept  and  sighed  for  him  in 
vain. 

Petrina's  friends  were  still  in  the  flush  of  gossip  over 
the  audacity  of  her  New  Year's  vaudeville  when  they 
learned  that  Vassall  had  left  her.  She  became  thus 
a  topic  of  double  disapproval.  Horrible  woodcuts  of  her 
appeared  in  the  common  prints,  and  vulgarly  written 
paragraphs  told  of  her  actions  past,  present,  and  to  come. 
A  woman  whose  own  husband,  after  a  few  months  of 
marriage,  finds  her  levity  insupportable,  naturally  fur 
nishes  a  suitable  subject  to  both  the  journalist  and  the 
raconteur.  To  Petrina's  fastidiousness  this  notoriety 
was  revolting;  but  she  bore  it,  she  almost  courted  it, 
knowing  that  to  Vassall  it  would  be  more  revolting 
still.  It  was  his  name  as  much  as  hers  which  was 
gaining  this  undesired  publicity. 

A  fortnight  after  the  opening  of  her  music-room,  and 
also  on  a  Sunday  evening,  she  invited  her  friends  again. 
Quincy  Brattle  spoke  of  Mademoiselle  Chosette  as 
positively  emoustillante,  and  said  that  La  Madrilena 
was  more  Spanish  than  ever  in  her  attitudes  and  antics. 
A  company  of  gayly  dressed  Tziganes  added  that  Bo- 

280 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

hemian  touch  which  Petrina  thought  appropriate  to 
the  Sabbath. 

Another  social  success  was  scored,  and  Vassall's  face 
grew  a  shade  more  gray  as  he  read  the  reporter's  account 
of  it  on  his  way  to  the  office  next  morning.  For  Petrirta 
it  was  the  beginning  of  a  season  of  excitement.  She 
stopped  at  nothing  which  would  startle  old-fashioned 
prejudice  or  give  her  husband  pain.  She  was  conscious 
ly  reckless  and  feverishly  indiscreet.  When  she  knew 
that  gossip  coupled  her  name  with  that  of  Saltonstall 
Browne  or  Bowdoin  Somerset,  or  any  other  of  the  young 
men  who  surrounded  her,  she  did  her  best  to  give  the 
report  some  semblance  of  foundation.  The  fact  that 
she  was  severely  criticised  incited  her  to  deserve  it. 
The  feeling  that  she  had  been  unjustly  treated  by  those 
whose  principles  were  religious  or  conservative  urged 
her  to  fling  her  glove  in  their  faces.  She  laughed  at 
rebuke  and  rejected  good  advice.  Of  the  folly  of  her 
life  she  was  more  aware  than  any  one,  but  it  gave  an 
outlet  to  her  need  of  action  and  kept  her  from  confront 
ing  the  fact  that  she  had  failed. 

For  she  had  failed.  She  had  failed  in  her  marriage, 
and  she  had  failed  in  her  social  projects.  As  the  winter 
waned  she  found  herself,  not  the  centre  of  that  resusci 
tated  Boston  of  which  she  dreamed,  but  the  ring-leader 
of  a  noisy,  foolish  band  of  young  people,  married  and 
single,  whose  wit  was  to  be  flippant,  and  whose  dis 
tinction  to  be  coarse.  Petrina  despised  them  all,  the 
men  for  their  weakness  and  the  women  for  their  man 
ners;  she  went  among  them  like  a  fallen  angel  seek 
ing  refuge  with  the  lesser  breed  of  men.  She  joined  in 
their  gayeties  and  led  their  laughter  and  made  them 
believe  that  she  was  one  of  them.  But  when  from  the 
dance  or  the  theatre  or  the  supper  a  little  too  late  she 
returned  to  the  silence  and  the  solitude  of  her  empty 

281 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

house,  she  knew  that  her  spirit  had  other  ideals,  and 
that  she  was  wandering  astray. 

One  by  one  the  people  for  whose  good  opinion  she 
would  have  cared  fell  away  from  her.  Between  herself 
and  her  step-mother  there  had  sprung  up  a  misunder 
standing  born  of  Petrina's  scorn  of  counsel.  Lady 
de  Bohun  and  Hippolyta  had  returned  early  in  the 
year  to  England.  Humphrey  and  Gentian  were  in 
Italy.  As  spring  drew  near  Petrina  felt  her  loneliness. 
Between  herself  and  Vassall  the  silence  was  complete. 
In  the  beginning  of  their  separation  they  had  written 
now  and  then,  but  even  that  had  ceased.  They  had  met, 
too,  once  or  twice,  but  Petrina  made  so  marked  a  show 
of  her  disdain  that  Vassall  was  careful  that  they  should 
not  meet  again. 

But  it  was  when  the  grass  was  growing  long  and 
the  trees  were  in  leaf  and  the  thrushes  were  back  and 
the  shrubs  were  in  blossom  and  the  great  yearning  of 
spring  was  in  the  heart  that  Petrina  began  to  realize 
that  she  was  friendless.  From  her  associates  of  the 
winter  she  turned  away ;  all  others  turned  from  her. 

Then  two  things  happened. 

One  day  there  crept  into  her  house  a  little  shrunken 
woman  in  fashionless  black — a  woman  who  had  aged 
in  the  past  winter  more  than  during  twenty  years.  It 
was  Mrs.  Vassall.  Petrina  was  conscious  of  a  pang  of 
compunction  as  she  looked  at  her.  Emmy's  and 
Harry's  troubles  had  fallen  heavily  on  a  spirit  which 
had  already  borne  the  trials  of  two  generations.  Mrs. 
Vassall  had  carried  her  parents'  sorrows,  her  husband's, 
and  her  own.  She  had  been  strong  and  meek  and 
brave.  And  now  the  generation  which  should  have 
sustained  the  steps  that  had  begun  to  totter  was  bring 
ing  its  new  load  to  lay  upon  her  heart. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  sight  of  this;  perhaps  it  was  some 

282 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

hidden,  hitherto  unsuspected  sympathy ;  perhaps  it  was 
the  prompting  of  the  strong  to  protect  the  feeble ;  perhaps 
it  was  the  urging  of  her  own  spiritual,  aching  need; 
something  there  was  which  impelled  Petrina,  before  a 
word  on  either  side  was  spoken,  to  throw  her  arms  about 
the  frail,  broken-hearted  little  lady  and  whisper  inar 
ticulate  words  of  welcome. 

If  Mrs.  Vassall  came  to  accuse,  she  stayed  to  com 
fort  and  be  comforted.  Between  the  young  woman, 
proud  and  rebellious,  and  the  old  woman,  chastened 
and  beaten  down,  there  was  some  inexplicable,  femi 
nine  understanding  which  helped  the  one  to  justify 
the  other.  Spiritually  far  apart  they  could  not  but  re 
main,  and  yet  in  some  secret  experience  they  found  a 
common  standing-ground. 

"I  know  how  his  father  was/'  the  little  mother  mur 
mured,  and  in  the  words  there  was  a  whole  history  of 
unacknowledged  trial.  She  who  had  brought  herself 
to  submit  to  the  parent  could  comprehend  the  revolt  of 
her  who  would  not  submit  to  the  son.  So  Petrina  found 
a  friend;  and  at  least  one  heart  knew  that,  in  spite  of 
all  appearances,  she  was  grieving  bitterly. 

Then  another  thing  happened.  Mrs.  Faneuil's  mal 
ady  declared  itself  beyond  concealment.  With  the  first 
cries  of  contrition  she  ever  uttered  Petrina  besought 
her  step-mother's  pardon.  On  both  sides,  and  for  many 
reasons,  the  reconciliation  was  soothing  and  sweet. 
There  followed  for  Petrina  a  year  of  nursing  and  se 
clusion.  The  summer  and  autumn  were  passed  at 
Faneuil  Hill,  the  winter  in  the  South.  Mrs.  Faneuil 
died  just  as  they  were  coming  North. 

Petrina  spent  the  summer  at  Faneuil  Hill  again. 
Her  grief  for  her  step-mother's  death  almost  wiped  out 
the  recollection  of  her  other  sorrows.  When,  as  the 
autumn  came  on,  she  recovered  something  of  her  usual 

283 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

tone,  Vassall  seemed  very  far  away  from  her.  She 
had  learned  to  do  without  him;  she  was  beginning  to 
forget  him.  It  was  with  a  start  that  she  remembered 
from  time  to  time  that  he  was  still  her  husband.  He 
belonged,  she  felt,  to  a  very  distant  past — distant  not 
as  the  years  went,  but  distant  as  the  dream  is  after  one 
has  waked  from  it. 

When  she  left  Faneuil  Hill  Petrina  did  not  return  to 
Boston.  She  went  elsewhere,  and  took  measures  for 
her  divorce. 

She  was  desolate;  she  was  alone;  it  would  be  better 
to  be  free;  for  then  she  could  at  least  begin  some  sort 
of  active  life  again. 


CHAPTER  II 

BUT  new  beginnings  are  not  easy.  We  like  to  feel 
that  each  event  of  life  is  linked  to  the  last.  Our  in 
stinct  is  for  growth  rather  than  for  transplantation. 
The  career  of  broken  experiences  may  be  rich,  but 
that  of  simple,  steady  progress  is  the  more  likely  to  give 
peace. 

If  Petrina  did  not  know  this  before  her  divorce,  she 
realized  it  afterwards.  When  the  only  tie  in  her  life 
was  loosed,  her  isolation  became  appalling  to  herself; 
her  liberty  was  awful. 

"Not  to  have  a  duty  towards  any  one,"  she  mused; 
"not  to  know  any  one  who  has  a  duty  towards  me!" 

During  her  brief  married  life  she  had  been  anxious 
not  to  have  a  child.  Now  she  envied  every  mother  who 
carried  a  baby  in  her  arms.  Her  grief  for  Mrs.  Fan- 
euil's  death  passed  into  a  permanent  sense  of  loss ;  her 
sentiment  towards  Vassall  became  a  dull,  resentful  pain. 
Beyond  those  two  emotions  her  heart  was  numb. 

"My  life  is  as  free  and  empty  as  the  ocean/'  she  re 
flected,  as  she  sat  on  the  deck  of  the  Kaiserin  Friedrich, 
steaming  towards  Italy.  "And  as  homeless/'  she  add 
ed,  with  a  sigh. 

She  was  travelling  without  aim  and  without  desire. 
Her  only  motive  for  going  anywhere  was  to  escape  from 
Boston  and  the  past.  Italy,  as  an  objective  point, 
was  as  good  as  any  other,  and  its  spring  came  early. 

" '  The  world  was  all  before  them  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,' " 

285 


Let   Not    Man  Put   Asunder 

she  quoted,  with  application  to  herself ;  but  the  very  im 
mensity  of  the  choice  made  it  dreary.  "  I  never  wanted 
so  much,"  she  thought.  "I  should  have  been  content 
with  my  little  Eden ;  only  that  I  was  driven  out.  Now 
its  gates  are  shut  behind  me ;  swords  of  fire  keep  the 
way,  and  I  shall  never  be  able  to  go  back  again.  I 
wonder  why  it  should  have  happened  thus  to  me?  In 
future,  I  suppose,  I  shall  do  nothing  but  roam.  I  shall 
become  like  the  Flying  Dutchman,  or  the  Wandering 
Jew,  or  Mr.  Lechmere." 

She  was  conscious  that  the  last  name  was  often  in 
her  mind.  She  explained  the  circumstances  by  the 
fact  that  he,  too,  had  made  an  unhappy  marriage,  and 
had  ended  it  as  she  had  ended  hers.  For  two  years  she 
had  lost  sight  of  him,  though  she  knew  vaguely  that 
he  was  in  the  East.  When  she  had  last  heard  of  him 
he  was  hunting  in  the  Himalayas. 

"No  doubt  I  shall  see  him  one  of  these  days,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "Wanderers  like  us  are  sure  to  cross 
each  other's  paths." 

So  she  was  not  surprised  when  she  learned  from 
some  Boston  people  at  Sorrento  that  he  had  returned 
from  India  and  was  in  Rome.  In  April,  when  she  went 
northward,  they  met  at  Tivoli. 

Eager  to  escape  from  the  American  and  English  ac 
quaintances  who  accosted  her  everywhere  from  the  Col 
osseum  to  the  Pincian,  Petrina  had  driven  out,  early 
one  morning,  through  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo,  and 
found  herself  in  the  green  Campagna.  Her  maid  and 
a  courier  were  with  her. 

"Drive  on  to  Tivoli,"  she  ordered,  her  spirits  rising 
with  the  breath  of  flowers  and  sense  of  solitude.  The 
way  was  not  new  to  her,  but  spring  in  the  Roman 
Campagna  is  always  wonderful.  The  white  comes 
over  its  daisies  and  the  scarlet  on  its  poppies  like  the 

286 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

flush  of  youth  into  the  cheek  of  Faust.  It  was  a  reju 
venescence;  it  is  almost  a  resurrection.  The  air  was 
soft,  the  day  bright,  the  great  plain  solemnly  still.  Now 
and  then  a  peasant  trudged  by,  or  a  wild-eyed  shep 
herd,  clad  in  unshorn  sheep-skins,  came  into  view  sur 
rounded  by  his  flock. 

Petrina  was  too  familiar  with  the  common  sights  of 
the  Campagna  to  pay  much  heed  to  them,  but  this 
morning  the  vast  loneliness  of  the  scene,  on  which  so 
much  had  happened,  and  from  which  nearly  all  had 
disappeared,  was  in  sympathy  with  her  mood.  Since 
her  release  from  Vassall  a  sense  of  isolation  never  left 
her. 

"Here,  too,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  looked  about 
her — "here,  too,  the  stage  has  been  cleared,  and  life  is 
waiting  to  begin  again." 

Leaning  back  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  her  fancy 
busied  itself  with  those  who  had  crossed  this  bit  of 
ground  before  her — kings,  emperors,  popes,  queens, 
apostles,  soldiers,  poets,  saints,  conquerors,  captives, 
Veii,  Gabii,  Jews,  Greeks,  Barbarians,  Scythians,  bond 
and  free — those  sprung  from  the  soil  and  those  gath 
ered  from  the  ends  of  the  earth — every  heart  among 
them  rejoicing  with  the  pleasure,  or  aching  with  the 
pain,  or  panting  with  the  fear,  or  bursting  with  the 
pride  which  were  now  as  wholly  gone  as  Rhea  Syl 
via's  soul  from  the  mists  of  Anio.  The  harebells,  hya 
cinths,  and  anemones  were  blooming  not  less  gayly 
than  when  Maecenas  drove  over  this  road  to  his  villa, 
or  Zenobia  to  her  palace-prison ;  but  of  the  human  effort 
spent  the  only  signs  were  a  broken  aqueduct  or  a  lone 
ly  tower  here  and  there;  of  the  human  blood  poured 
out  there  was  no  memorial  save  that  which  fancy  saw 
in  the  red  of  the  poppies  among  the  grass. 

"And  now  it  is  my  turn/'  Petrina  mused.  "I,  too, 

287 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

have  come  from  a  far-off  land,  and  am  crossing  the 
great  green  field  of  Destiny.  I  am  only  twenty-seven. 
Life  must  have  something  in  reserve  for  me.  This  very 
soil  is  rich  with  the  sleeping  energies  of  the  past.  Who 
knows  but  that  I  may  draw  something  out  of  it?  These 
very  flowers,  blossoming  after  all  that  has  happened 
'here,  are  proofs  of  the  persistency  of  spring.  Who 
knows  but  that  I  may  gather  some  of  them?  This 
very  road  has  been  worn  by  the  feet  of  those  who  came 
from  Egypt  and  Syria  and  Carthage  and  Britain,  and 
journeyed  here  to  find  their  fate.  Who  knows  but  that 
I  may  be  travelling  towards  mine?" 

It  was  one  of  those  spring  mornings  when  one  feels 
as  if  the  seed  of  life  which  has  been  germinating  in 
monotony  must  burst  into  act,  and  that  something  in 
teresting  must  occur. 

"What  is  it  to  be?"  Petrina  wondered,  as  she  passed 
the  Plautian  tomb  and  the  ruins  of  the  Villa  Adriana. 
But  if  she  had  known — if  Albunea,  the  Tiburtine  Sybil, 
had  come  down  from  the  heights  of  Tivoli  with  the 
books  of  the  future  in  her  hand,  if  Petrina  had  been 
able  to  read  therein  and  see  whither  that  way  was  tak 
ing  her,  she  might  have  turned  her  horses  and  gone 
back  to  Rome.  But  Albunea 's  temple  is  a  ruin,  and 
the  Sybil's  books  are  burned ;  and  so  Petrina  drove  up 
the  winding  olive-bordered  road  which  led  to  Tivoli  and 
Fate. 

"Go  to  the  Villa  d'Este,"  she  ordered  the  coach 
man  as  they  entered  the  town. 

She  longed  to  escape  from  the  desolation  of  the  Cam- 
pagna;  where  Time  and  Nature  seemed  that  day  to 
smile  at  the  completeness  of  their  triumph  over  the 
work  of  man.  She  had  a  desire  to  find  herself  in  a 
garden  planned  by  a  human  mind  and  planted  by 
human  hands.  The  long  drive  over  the  dust  of  an 

288 


Let  Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

obliterated  life  had  chilled  her  spirit.  It  had  made 
her  feel  that  she,  too,  would  one  day  be  blotted  out, 
and  against  that  idea  her  healthy,  pagan  youth  re 
belled.  It  was  with  a  sense  of  fleeing  to  a  refuge 
that  she  thought  of  the  blossoming  trees  and  plash 
ing  waters  of  the  garden  hanging  amid  the  cliffs 
above. 

She  left  the  carriage  to  await  her  in  the  shadow  of  the 
cathedral,  and  went  into  the  Villa.  The  sun  was  grow 
ing  hot  and  blinding,  and,  as  she  emerged  from  the 
long  entry-passage  into  the  garden,  the  coolness  and 
shade  were  grateful.  Under  the  solemn  cypresses  the 
Judas-trees  relieved  the  dimness  by  their  vivid  pink; 
while  the  lilacs  and  lemon-trees  filled  the  air  with  their 
delicate  perfumes.  Far  below  came  the  sound  of  cas 
cades  and  fountains.  Petrina  crossed  the  upper  terrace 
and  looked  down  the  avenue  of  cypresses.  Terrace  lay 
below  terrace.  On  each  succeeding  level  were  acacias 
and  lilacs,  Judas-trees,  and  roses.  Fountains,  water 
falls,  basins,  and  rillets  running  through  stone  chan 
nels  bordered  with  maidenhair -fern  fed  the  thirsty 
hill-side.  The  marble  staircases  which  led  down  from 
plane  to  plane  were  moss-edged  and  worn  by  time.  Here 
and  there  between  the  cypresses  the  eye  had  glimpses 
of  Monte  Catillo  and  the  towers  and  roofs  of  Tivoli. 
Far  down,  at  the  end  of  the  long  cypress  vista,  lay 
the  Campagna,  now  gleaming  with  the  many  colors  of 
the  morning. 

"History — mystery — romance,"  Petrina  murmured, 
half  aloud.  "But  not  solitude/'  she  added;  for  up  the 
twisted  staircase,  from  the  terrace  below,  a  man  was 
coming  towards  her. 

"Angels  always  drop  from  the  sky,"  cried  Lechmere, 
stopping  a  moment  in  his  ascent. 

"But  I  was  obliged  to  come  in  a  carriage,"  Petrina 

289 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

laughed,  as  she  moved  to  the  head  of  the  staircase  to 
meet  him. 

"  Which  proves  that,  after  all,  it  is  you  and  not  your 
spirit,  as  I  feared,"  Lechmere  responded,  as  they  shook 
hands.  "This  is  a  pleasant  meeting,  Mrs.  Vassall — 
for  me." 

"  And  I  may  say  for  me,"  said  Petrina,  looking  at  him 
with  a  frank  smile.  She  felt  suddenly  as  if  her  lone 
liness  were  being  bridged  over;  as  if  another  human 
life  were  touching  hers  at  last.  "  I  hoped  to  have  seen 
you  in  Rome,"  she  continued.  "  I  heard  you  had  come 
back  from  India.  What  an  age  you  have  left  us  with 
out  news  of  you!" 

"You've  had  your  revenge  for  that  deprivation  in 
the  fact  that  I've  had  no  news  of  you.  Where's  Harry? 
Is  he  here?" 

"  N — no,"  Petrina  stammered,  coloring  slightly;  "  he's 
in  Boston." 

"  Are  you  with  a  party,  then?" 

"N — no,"  she  said  again,  opening  her  sunshade  to 
conceal  her  embarrassment. 

"  You're  not  alone?" 

"  My  maid  and  a  courier  are  waiting  for  me  outside. 
But  tell  me  about  yourself.  How  are  you?  Where 
have  you  come  from?  What  have  you  been  doing  these 
two — nearly  three — years?  Why  are  you  out  here, 
instead  of  being  at  the  Grand  Hotel?" 

"Shall  we  walk  down  the  garden?"  he  suggested. 

"Yes;  let  us;  I  haven't  been  here  since  I  came  with 
dear  mamma,  five  years  ago." 

"  I  notice  that  you're  in  black?"  Lechmere  said,  in  a 
tone  of  gentle  questioning.  "  I  hope — " 

"Mamma  died  last  spring,"  Petrina  replied,  gravely. 
"I  will  tell  you  about  it  some  time.  This  morning  I 
want  your  news.  Another  day  will  do  for  mine." 

290 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"  I  have  none  to  tell/'  said  Lechmere,  as  they  began  to 
descend.  "I've  made  history  only  to  the  extent  of  a 
little  elephant-hunting  and  tiger-shooting,  and  much 
wasting  of  time.  The  best  thing  I  can  say  is  that,  since 
we  last  met,  I've  docked  off  nearly  three  more  years  of  a 
conspicuously  useless  career." 

"  It  still  amuses  you  to  talk  like  that?" 

"  It  amuses  me  to  observe  how  human  existences  come 
from  nothing  and  accomplish  nothing  and  end  in  noth 
ing.  It  amuses  me  to  be  useless,  because  I  know  there 
is  nothing  worth  while.  It  amuses  me  to  feel  the  great 
exterminator,  Time,  slowly  making  an  end  of  me,  as  he 
has  made  an  end  of  everything  that  used  to  be  out  there 
on  the  Campagna,  and  as  he  is  crumbling  away  this 
Villa  on  which  Pirro  Ligorio,  and  Ippolyto  d'Este  spent 
so  much  pains.  The  axe  is  already  laid  to  the  root  of 
the  cypresses  and  Judas-trees.  The  fountains  and 
cascades  run  with  greater  difficulty  year  by  year. 
Look  about  you  in  the  grass.  The  harebells  and 
hyacinths  are  creeping  up  in  ever-increasing  numbers 
from  the  wild  vegetation  of  the  Campagna  below. 
Sooner  or  later  they  will  stifle  all  that  man  has  planted, 
and  fill  up  all  that  he  has  hollowed  and  hewn.  It  will 
be  with  the  Villa  d'Este  as  with  the  Villa  Adriana.  It 
will  be  ruined  with  beauty ;  it  will  be  blotted  out  under  a 
pall  of  flowers.  So  with  ourselves.  Time  is  smothering 
us  all  under  a  heap  of  blessings.  It  amuses  me  to  feel 
myself  submitting  to  the  process,  and  to  perceive,  as 
years  go  by,  the  progress  of  my  own  mental,  moral,  and 
physical  decay." 

The  tone  of  these  wrords  appealed  to  Petrina.  She 
knew  that  while  it  was  half  mocking,  it  was  half  sincere  ; 
and  that;  though  Lechmere  was  only  playing  at  pessi 
mism,  yet  the  motive  of  the  game  was  disappointment 
with  his  life.  The  perception  that  he  was  weak  touched 

291 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

in  her  that  New  England  impulse  to  help,  which  Vas- 
sall's  sober,  philanthropic  schemes  had  always  left  un 
moved.  In  the  needs  of  the  race  at  large  she  had  no 
interest;  but  for  this  man  with  the  Vandyke  mien  and 
gentle  eyes  and  silvering  hair  and  passionate  nature 
she  had  a  ready  feminine  sympathy.  Then,  he  gave 
her  a  sense  of  companionship.  It  was  a  relief  to  feel 
that  after  her  long  isolation  a  soul  with  whom  she  had 
some  kinship  was  breaking  into  her  solitude. 

"  And  yet,"  she  said,  as  they  paused  before  one  of  the 
great  fountains  on  the  second  terrace — "and  yet  you 
seem  to  me  a  man  with  an  appetite  for  the  joyous  part 
of  life.  I  should  have  said  that  you  possessed  some 
thing  of  my  own  rather  Greek  and  soulless  capacity  for 
being  happy." 

"Which  would  mean  that  we  were  both  foredoomed 
to  misery.  As  the  Goncourts  say,  La  vie  est  bien  habile- 
ment  arrangee  pour  que  personne  ne  soit  heureux.  The 
capacity  for  joy  is  the  gift  of  a  wicked  fairy.  It  is  out 
of  place  in  a  world  like  this.  It  has  no  chance.  It 
doesn't  belong  to  us.  You'll  find  that  out  one  day,  if 
you  haven't — " 

He  hesitated.  Petrina  screened  her  face  from  him 
with  her  sunshade  and  moved  away. 

"If  you  haven't  done  so  already,"  he  finished,  as 
they  began  to  descend  another  flight  of  steps. 

"How  curious  it  is  that  you  should  be  here  at  Tivoli," 
Petrina  remarked,  with  an  effort  to  change  the  subject. 
"I  thought  you  would  be  in  Rome." 

"I've  been  up  in  Subiaco  with  some  artist  chaps. 
When  they  went  on  to  Florence  I  decided  to  stop  over 
a  day  or  two  at  Tivoli.  This  is  one  of  the  few  places 
in  which  a  haunted  soul  finds  peace.  There's  nothing 
here  that  doesn't  tell  you  that  no  grief  can  last  long. 
There's  been  so  much  of  it  in  the  bit  of  country  on  which 

292 


Let  Not  Man   Put    Asunder 

these  hills  look  out!  and  now  it's  all  over!  The  time 
hasn't  been  so  very  long,  even  if  we  go  back  to  the  an 
guish  of  Rhea  Sylvia  bringing  forth  the  sons  of  her  dis 
honor.  And  between  that  day  and  this,  what  a  tortur 
ing  of  poor,  proud  human  worms !  What  sport  it  has 
been  for  the  imperial  gods  to  watch  them  wriggle  and 
expire!  But,  you  see,  it's  all  over.  That's  the  sooth 
ing  part  of  it.  You  learn  here  that  your  own  suffering 
is  of  no  consequence.  When  your  cries  go  up  from  a 
spot  like  this  they  are  no  more  audible  than  the  shrieks 
of  a  crushed  ant.  The  Alban  Hills  throw  back  so  many 
echoes  of  pain  that  your  own  voice  is  drowned.  Where 
there  have  been  such  heroic  agonies  our  own  woes 
seem  small.  I  suppose  you're  not  old  enough  to  know 
the  balm  of  that.  But  by-and-by,  when  you  and  Harry 
begin  to  learn  that  the  fire  of  love  can  burn  low — " 

"What  a  sense  of  mystery  there  is  in  this  garden!" 
Petrina  interrupted,  eager  again  to  change  his  theme. 
"It  has  always  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  tales  of  the  De 
cameron  might  have  been  told  here.  I  suppose  it  is 
the  effect  of  cypress  and  shade  in  contrast  with  sun 
shine  and  flowers,  and  all  this  plashing  of  waters." 

"And  something  that  belongs  to  the  sixteenth  cen 
tury  and  to  Italy — to  the  time  and  place  when  men  and 
women  were  not  afraid  of  love  and  hate  and  life  and 
death.  These  are  the  haunts  of  great,  primal' emotions. 
Their  memory  lingers  in  the  solemnity  of  the  cypresses 
and  the  perfume  of  the  lemon-trees.  That's  the  at 
traction  to  us,  who  know  of  passion  only  in  the  melo 
drama,  and  who  restrict  the  intensity  of  life  to  the  third 
act  of  a  play.  We  have  to  live  on  the  strong  things 
other  men  have  felt  because  we  are  too  timid,  or  too 
self-conscious,  or  too  feeble  to  feel  strong  things  our 
selves.  It  is  passion  that  builds  palaces  and  plants 
gardens  and  puts  into  nature  something  of  the  human 

293 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

thrill.  But  there  is  no  passion  any  more.  We  Amer 
icans  know  of  it  from  books  and  pictures  and  spots  like 
this,  but  we  should  laugh  at  it  in  ourselves." 

"And  yet  you  yourself — "  Petrina  began,  rather 
daringly. 

"Oh,  I'm  no  example,  Mrs.  Vassall.  I'm  only  a 
poor,  out-of-date  devil,  who  had  no  business  to  be  born 
later  than  the  time  of  the  great  Popes  and  the  Medici. 
That's  why,  of  recent  years,  I've  kept  out  of  people's 
way.  They  despise  me,  and  I  despise  myself." 
"But  I  don't." 

"I  know  you  don't.  That's  the  reason  I'm  so  inex 
pressibly  glad  to  see  you.  I've  felt  that  you  had  some 
little  shade  of  friendship  for  me,  ever  since  the  night 
we  talked  of  it  at  Orpington  Park." 

"Then  why  have  you  kept  out  of  my  sight  so  long? 
At  the  very  least,  you  might  have  written  me  a  line  to 
tell  me  you  were  living.  There  have  been  times  when 
I  didn't  know  even  that ;  and  I've  thought  a  good  deal 
about  you.  It  wasn't  kind." 

"Wasn't  it?  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  because  I 
like  to  know  you  cared.  Only,  while  we're  talking 
about  it,  I  may  say  that,  when  we  last  met,  Harry  didn't 
seem  to  me  quite  the  same.  He  gave  me  the  cold  shoul 
der,  or  I  thought  he  did.  I  was  sorry,  for  I  couldn't  see 
the  reason  why — unless  it  was  because,  one  night  at 
Ashuelot,  before  you  were  married,  I  let  him  see  what 
a  fool  I  was.  He's  been  my  best  friend  for  twenty  years ; 
and  so  if  you  could  put  me  right  with  him — " 

"  I  should  think  we  could  get  a  good  view  of  the  villa 
from  this  point,"  Petrina  said,  with  apparent  tran 
quillity,  turning  as  she  spoke. 

They  stood  at  a  spot  where  the  avenue  of  cypress 
rounds  out  and  forms  a  circular  enclosure.  At  their 
feet  tiny  fountains  shot  up  like  flowers  of  spray  from 

294 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

pots  of  stone.  As  Petrina  and  Lechmere  looked  back 
up  the  path  by  which  they  had  descended,  the  lavish- 
ness  of  blossom  and  color  was  worthy  of  the  way  by 
which  angels  might  come  down  from  God.  The  wil 
derness  of  bloom  was  cleft  only  to  disclose  the  stair 
ways  and  fountains  rising  tier  beyond  tier,  tier  beyond 
tier,  until  far  above,  as  though  hanging  in  the  air,  the 
villa  displayed  its  long,  straight,  simple  lines. 

"What  an  irony  it  is,"  Lechmere  observed,  "that 
a  garden  like  this  isn't  the  background  for  love  and 
pleasure!  That's  the  only  way  in  which  it  could  be 
put  to  use.  It's  perfectly  futile  to  have  so  much  love 
liness  merely  to  look  at,  and  not  to  weave  in  with  the 
fibres  of  one's  heart." 

"  In  such  a  place  one  regrets  that  there  is  not  a  God. 
If  there  were,  one  could  offer  this  beauty  up  to  Him. 
No  other  service  would  be  worthy  of  it.  There  are 
some  things  beyond  being  dedicated  to  any  merely 
human  use — St.  Peter's  or  Notre  Dame,  for  instance. 
This  is  one.  I  agree  with  you  that  such  beauty  cre 
ates  a  feeling  of  futilitj7.  We're  not  equal  to  it.  We 
have  no  emotions  to  match  it.  If  we  were  allowred  to 
live  in  it,  we  should  want,  like  Eve,  to  do  something 
that  would  force  the  fates  to  drive  us  out.  To  look  at 
it  makes  us  sad." 

They  turned  again  to  descend  the  garden. 

"Couldn't  we  sit  down?"  Petrina  asked.  "I'm  rath 
er  tired,  and,  besides,  I've  something  to  tell  you." 

"There's  a  seat  by  the  parapet,  over  there,"  Lech 
mere  replied,  and  presently  they  came  to  it.  They 
had  reached  the  lowest  limit  of  the  villa  grounds.  Be 
low  them  the  roots  of  Tivoli  struck  down  towards  the 
plain.  Before  them  there  was  nothing  but  the  open, 
empty  Campagna.  On  the  north  they  could  see  Monte- 
celli,  on  the  south  Frascati,  and  far  on  the  western  sky- 

295 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

line  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  made  a  dark  spot  in  the  pur 
ple  haze. 

Petrina  sat  down;  Lechmere  leaned  on  the  parapet. 
For  a  time  they  gazed  outward  in  silence. 

"This  is  the  Campagna's  hour,"  Lechmere  remark 
ed,  at  last.  "It  puts  on  all  its  hues  at  noon,  just  as 
the  Bay  of  Naples  does  at  sunset." 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  noticed  before,  how  wonderful 
it  is,"  said  Petrina,  absently.  "The  tints  are  as  va 
ried  as  those  of  an  opal,  and  more  vivid." 

Again  they  lapsed  into  silence,  as  they  noted  how 
the  clear  green  of  the  foreground,  dashed  with  the  scar 
let  of  poppies  and  the  purple  of  hyacinths,  merged  far 
ther  away  into  tones  of  brown  and  red  and  rose,  shad 
ing  into  blue  and  mauve,  and  deepening  into  amethyst 
and  violet  in  the  distance  towards  Rome.  Lonely  tow 
ers — refuges  once  of  the  rival  Orsini  and  Colonna  shep 
herds — made,  in  the  clear  noon-light,  patches  of  burn 
ing  orange;  while  the  broken  aqueducts,  festooned 
against  the  sky,  had  all  the  hues  of  the  rainbow  bridges 
by  which  the  North  gods  mounted  to  their  heaven.  A 
fringe  of  osiers  or  a  line  of  willows  marked  the  course 
of  Anio  flowing  sluggishly  towards  the  Tiber,  after  his 
wild  dash  through  the  gorges  of  Subiaco  and,  in  many 
cascades,  over  the  rocks  of  Tivoli.  At  intervals,  be 
tween  the  undulations  of  the  plain,  they  could  trace 
the  dusty  thread  of  the  old  Tiburtine  road,  still  paved 
in  places  with  the  blocks  of  lava  laid  down  two  thou 
sand  years  ago,  and  over  which  now  an  occasional  wine 
cart,  with  revolving  hood,  could  be  seen  jolting  on  its 
way  to  Rome. 

"When  I  was  last  here,"  said  Petrina,  after  a  long 
silence,  "  I  tried  not  to  think.  I  was  young  and  light- 
hearted,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  to  reflect  on  haunted 
ground  like  this  would  overpower  me." 

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Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"And  now?" 

"  Now  I  feel  that  I  am  changed.  I've  had  a  great 
deal  of  trouble.  I  don't  want  to  force  it  on  you,  but 
I'm  obliged  to  tell  you  of  it." 

"I  hope  you  know  that  you  can  count  on  my  sym 
pathy,  as  I  feel  that  I  could  count  on  yours." 

"I  would  rather  you  heard  it  from  any  one  but  me," 
Petrina  went  on,  in  a  low  voice,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
distant  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  "But  you  must  be  told. 
I've  divorced  Harrv." 

"Good  God!" 

Lechmere's  start  of  surprise  was  involuntary,  but 
he  mastered  himself  at  once. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  said,"  Petrina  continued, 
in  the  same  tranquil  tone.  "  He  left  me  in  less  than  a 
year  after  we  were  married — " 

"  I  had  heard  that,  but  put  it  down  to  idle  talk." 

"I  never  quite  knew  why  he  did  so.  There  was  no 
trouble  between  us  that  could  have  been  called  grave. 
But  he  left  me  in  a  way  which  I  could  never  pardon, 
and  so — " 

Petrina  did  not  finish  her  sentence.  There  was  no 
need.  She  looked  towards  Lechmere,  and  their  eyes 
met.  He  had  the  instinctive  delicacy  not  to  question 
her,  and  she  was  grateful  for  the  silence  of  his  sympa 
thy.  After  all  the  blame  she  had  borne,  it  was  com 
forting,  too,  to  find  some  one  who  did  not  take  for  grant 
ed  that  she  had  been  in  the  wrong. 

Another  long  silence  fell ;  and  then,  by-and-by,  they 
began  to  speak  of  trivial  things.  Lechmere  pointed 
out  characteristics  of  the  Campagna  new  to  Petrina, 
and  named  the  white  towns  that  could  be  seen  nestling 
among  the  hills. 

"  It  must  be  nearly  noon,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  I  ought 
to  be  going  away." 

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Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

As  she  rose  their  eyes  met  again,  but  for  the  moment 
there  was  no  embarrassment  in  their  regard.  Both 
felt  old;  both  were  tired;  both  were  frankly  glad  of 
mutual  comprehension.  There  was  a  tacit  assump 
tion  that  trouble  had  made  them  something  more  than 
ordinary  friends.  From  the  one  to  the  other  there  pass 
ed  a  silent  offer,  and  an  equally  silent  acceptance,  of 
consolation  and  aid. 


CHAPTER  III 

PETRINA  felt  no  awkwardness  in  the  situation  until, 
as  they  were  leaving  the  grounds  of  the  Villa,  Lech- 
mere  urged  her  to  lunch  with  him. 

"Thank  you/'  she  answered,  "but  I  am  going  to  the 
Regina." 

"  You  will  find  it  humbler  at  the  Sybilla,  but  we  shall 
lunch  in  the  open  air,  in  the  shadow  of  the  ruined  temple, 
and  before  one  of  the  most  glorious  views  in  Europe. 
I  can't  offer  you  luxury,  but  my  servant  makes  very 
good  coffee,  and  will  add  a  few  accessories.  It  won't 
be  so  bad.  You  must  come." 

"But  my  courier  has  already  given  the  orders  at 
the  Regina." 

"  You  can  drive  round  and  countermand  them.  Mean 
while  I  shall  go  on  to  the  Sybilla  and  make  ready  for  so 
illustrious  a  guest." 

"  I  don't  think  I  can.  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Lech- 
mere,  but — " 

She  was  beginning  to  feel  uncomfortable.  For  the 
first  time  she  saw  that  her  position  was  a  difficult  one. 
He  was  a  divorced  man ;  she  a  divorced  woman.  They 
were  both  free ;  but  it  seemed  to  her  suddenly  as  if  in 
their  freedom  there  was  something  vaguely  odious. 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  come?"  he  urged,  as  they  turned 
on  the  highest  terrace  for  one  last  look  down  the  hill-side 
of  blossom.  "  Be  frank  with  me.  People  like  ourselves 
don't  have  to  stop  at  every  step  to  wonder  whether  they 
are  acting  according  to  the  rules  of  a  book  of  etiquette. 

299 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

They  have  only  to  be  simple  and  sensible.  We  meet  by 
accident  in  a  place  like  Tivoli.  It  is  as  if  we  were  cast 
together  on  a  desert  island.  It  would  be  absurd  for 
you  to  go  one  way  and  for  me  to  go  another.  Besides, 
I  insist.  I  am  going  to  look  after  you.  I  shall  take 
you  back  to  Rome,  and  shall  not  leave  you  till  I  see  you 
safely  at  the  Grand  Hotel." 

"  The  Royal/'  Petrina  corrected,  and  in  the  correction 
she  felt  that  she  had  yielded. 

Later  the  sense  of  discomfort  left  her.  She  could  not 
but  admire  the  delicacy  with  which  he  made  her  feel  at 
ease;  while  his  unobtrusive  attentions  appealed  to  her 
feminine  love  of  being  served.  It  was  so  good  to  be 
taken  care  of  once  again !  Petrina 's  independence  was 
only  mental.  For  the  common  tasks  of  life  she  liked  to 
have  a  man  at  hand.  She  was  not  afraid  of  managing 
a  difficult  social  complication ;  but  she  shrank  from  the 
responsibility  of  feeing  a  waiter  or  paying  a  cabman 
or  registering  her  luggage  at  a  station.  She  had  en 
gaged  a  courier  just  to  have  these  tasks  taken  off  her 
hands ;  but  the  very  necessity  of  doing  so  was  galling. 
It  forced  home  the  fact,  with  which  she  had  good  reason 
to  be  familiar,  that  she  was  quite  alone.  Since  arriv 
ing  in  Italy  she  had  drifted  without  volition.  Naples, 
Castellamare,  Sorrento,  Amalfi,  were  stopping-places 
chosen  only  because  she  must  have  a  shelter  wherein 
to  lay  her  head.  Rome  itself  had  been  no  more  to  her. 
But  now,  since  Lechmere  had  crossed  her  path,  a  motive 
seemed  to  have  come  into  existence.  She  could  not  have 
put  the  thought  into  words;  it  was  too  new,  too  daring, 
even  to  entertain;  but  it  was  none  the  less  pleasant  to 
sit  there  in  the  shadow  of  the  Sybil's  broken  shrine,  and 
to  feel  that  across  the  gulf  of  her  loneliness  a  hand  wras 
stretched  out  to  help  her. 

So,  looking  on  the  gorge,  around  which  Tivoli  clam- 

300 


Let  Not  Man  Put  Asunder 

bers  and  down  which  the  Anio  pours  his  noisy  flood, 
they  talked  of  the  new  doings  of  old  friends. 

"And  what  of  Lady  de  Bohun?"  Lechmere  asked. 

"Of  which?" 

"Of  both." 

"When  people  say  Lady  de  Bohun  nowadays  they 
mean  Gentian." 

"Then  tell  me  first  of  her." 

"From  her  own  point  of  view  she  has  made  a  great 
success." 

"And  from  yours?" 

"From  mine,  too,  I  think.  She  has  reduced  Hum 
phrey  to  a  condition  of  docility,  and  she  has  secured 
an  uncontested  place  in  English  society.  She's  clever, 
you  know,  and  she  has  endless  pluck.  You  could  see 
that  years  ago,  when  she  made  her  father  and  mother 
remarry.  She  had  a  hard  fight  at  first  when  Humphrey 
took  her  to  England ;  but  she  stood  her  ground  so  well 
that  at  last  all  she  claimed  was  conceded.  The  Duchess 
of  Ambleside  and  Princess  Hans  of  Markenstein  took 
her  up ;  and  now  all  doors  are  open  to  her,  except  that 
of  Buckingham  Palace,  which  doesn't  matter  much." 

"And  what  about  Emmy?" 

"  Forgotten.  London  has  proverbially  a  short  mem 
ory  ;  but  nowhere  is  it  so  short  as  in  that  precise  part 
of  London  in  which  Emmy  used  to  live.  People  begin 
to  feel  that  when  Humphrey  married  Gentian  he  was  a 
widower." 

"  But  Emmy  didn't  seem  the  sort  of  person  to  submit 
to  extinction." 

"  Yes  and  no.  She  never  cared  what  any  one  thought 
or  said  about  her.  She  doesn't  now.  If  she  chose  to 
come  forward  she  could  make  Gentian  seem  like  a  usurp 
er.  But  she  doesn't  choose.  The  game  isn't  worth 
the  candle  to  her.  And  then  she  always  has  it  in  her 

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Let   Not    Man    Put    Asunder 

power  to  rise  from  the  dead  as  Mrs.  Gerald  Bertie,  fut 
ure  Countess  of  Ulls water." 

"Then  why  doesn't  she?" 

"  I  can't  quite  make  her  out.  I  haven't  seen  her,  you 
know,  for  two  years  and  more.  We  write,  but  ever  since 
our — our  troubles,  we  are  less  confidential  than  we  used 
to  be.  Of  course  it  was  only  natural  that  she  should 
think  I  had  been  unkind  to  Harry;  and  then  Hum 
phrey's  marriage  was  a  shock  to  her.  I  am  going  to 
make  her  a  long  visit  at  Orpington  Park,  and  we  shall 
no  doubt  regain  the  old  footing  with  each  other. 

"And  how  has  the  girl  turned  out?  She  promised 
to  be  a  beauty.  She  must  be  over  twenty  now." 

"Emmy  writes  that  they  have  given  their  consent 
to  her  becoming  some  sort  of  nun.  It  seems  a  mad 
step;  but  perhaps  it  is  the  easiest  way  out  of  a  difficult 
situation.  Hippolyta  refuses  absolutely  to  see  her 
father;  and  Humphrey  is  in  so  much  dread  of  Gentian 
meeting  her  by  accident  in  a  London  drawing-room 
that  he  prefers  to  know  she  is  shut  up  out  of  danger  in 
a  convent." 

"  The  boy,  I  suppose,  is  still  at  Eton?" 

"And  doing  very  badly.  That  is  another  source  of 
worry  to  them.  He  seemed  such  a  sterling  little  man; 
but  in  growing  older  he  hasn't  fulfilled  the  promise  of 
his  childhood.  He's  eighteen  now,  and  they  hope  he'll 
do  better  when  he  goes  to  Oxford.  It  is  curious  that 
he  should  be  following  the  example  of  his  father  and 
mother  just  at  the  time  when  they  are  beginning  to  see 
that  it  was  a  bad  one. " 

"  I  suppose  that's  only  another  form  of  the  visitation 
of  the  parents'  sins  upon  the  child." 

"And  on  themselves,"  said  Petrina,  thoughtfully. 
"  There  was  a  time  when  I  didn't  believe  that  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  sin.  I  don't  know  that  I  do  now;  but 

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Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

as  I  grow  older  I  begin  to  see  that  there  is  certainly  a 
tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  in  the  midst  of 
the  garden  of  life,  and  that  we  must  not  eat  of  it  nor 
touch  it  lest—" 

"Lest  what?"  Lechmere  had  been  sitting  sidewise 
to  the  table,  smoking  a  cigarette  and  gazing  across  the 
ivy -hung,  clematis  -  clad  precipice,  towards  the  Ponte 
Gregoriano  and  the  cataract  plunging  beside  it.  Now 
he  turned  and  looked  Petrina  in  the  eyes. 

"Lest  what?"  he  repeated. 

"Lest  we  die,  the  Bible  says.  I  should  read  it,  lest 
we  live  and  suffer.  I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal 
lately  of  Adam  and  Eve  being  driven  out  of  their 
Paradise.  It  seems  so  hard  and  yet  so  inevitable. 
Why  is  it  that  when  we  are  in  Eden  we  cannot 
stay?" 

"Have  you  been  there?" 

Petrina  colored. 

"Have  you?"  she  asked,  in  return. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  lines  at  the  end  of  Paradise 
Lost?  'The  world  was  all  before  them—'  " 

"Don't,  please,"  Petrina  laughed,  with  an  effort  to 
seem  not  serious. 

"  But  you  asked  me.  I  was  going  to  answer  you.  I 
wanted  to  say  that  I  know  the  meaning  of  those  lines. 
You  do,  too,  I  think." 

"  I  don't  like  Milton.     He's  too  much  in  earnest. " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Milton  so  much  as  of  you  and 
me." 

The  expression  in  his  eyes  troubled  her. 

"And  I  am  thinking  of  the  time/'  she  exclaimed, 
taking  out  her  watch.  "It's  nearly  two.  My  people 
and  I  should  be  on  the  march  if  we  are  to  get  back  to 
Rome  before  sunset." 

"  Your  people  are  going  in  one  carriage  with  my  ser- 

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Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

vant;  while  you  are  coming  in  another  with  me.  It  is 
all  arranged.  The  horses  are  at  the  door." 

Again  Petrina  protested  faintly,  but  again  she  was 
conscious  of  the  luxury  of  having  some  one  to  take 
care  of  her. 

And  yet  that  night,  alone  in  her  apartments  in  Rome, 
she  was  not  free  from  an  indefinable  self-reproach. 

"I  couldn't  have  acted  otherwise,"  she  argued  with 
herself.  "  He  insisted.  It  would  have  been  foolish  to 
have  refused.  It  is  not  as  if  I  knew  he  was  going  to 
be  there.  On  other  occasions  I  shall  not  allow  myself 
to  be  placed  so  awkwardly." 

She  foresaw  that  there  would  be  other  occasions.  In 
fact,  Lechmere  had  offered  to  come  next  day  and  take 
her  to  the  Palazzo  Barbarini  to  see  Guide's  Beatrice. 
She  knew  the  picture  was  but  an  excuse  for  going  out 
together;  and  yet  she  had  given  him  leave  to  come. 

"I  shall  not  do  it  again,"  she  decided.  " I  can  easily 
find  reasons  for  declining  other  things." 

But  to  do  so  became  harder  than  she  supposed  it 
would.  Lechmere  was  gentle  but  importunate.  For 
each  day  he  had  a  new  expedition ;  and  his  invitations 
were  given  with  so  much  respectful  insistence  that  she 
found  no  way  of  eluding  them.  Her  refusals  were 
always  made  to  seem  ridiculous  even  to  herself.  They 
were  alone  in  Rome;  they  were  friends;  what  more 
natural  than  that  they  should  see  something  of  each 
other?  Besides,  Petrina  felt  herself  protected  by  what 
she  knew  of  the  passion  of  his  life.  That  stood  be 
tween  them.  From  the  man  who  loved  Felicia  deProny, 
she  reasoned,  there  was  nothing  at  all  to  fear. 

She  had  almost  convinced  herself  of  that  when  some 
thing  happened  to  make  her  doubt  it.  Lechmere  had 
suggested  a  visit  to  the  Catacombs,  which  she  had 
never  seen.  One  bright  morning,  therefore,  they  drove 

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Let    Not   Man    Put  Asunder 

out  the  Appian  Way,  and  tried  as  they  went  to  fancy 
the  feelings  of  the  early  Christians  who  had  so  often 
stolen  over  it  towards  the  same  goal. 

"It's  no  use/'  said  Petrina,  as  they  passed  the  Baths 
of  Caracalla.  "  I  can't.  I  can  see  the  early  Christians 
only  as  surrounded  by  their  aureoles,  and  wearing  robes 
of  vivid  stained-glass  blue  and  red.  This  road  is  so 
hopelessly  ugly  and  commonplace!  I  never  can  think 
that  they  bore  the  body  of  Cecilia  Metella  over  it,  or 
that  St.  Peter  and  Clemens  and  Claudia  crept  along  it, 
to  sing  and  pray  to  Jesus  Christ." 

"  I  think  it's  the  very  commonness  that  impresses 
me,"  Lechmere  returned.  "I,  too,  have  the  stained- 
glass-window  vision  of  the  saints.  But  when  I  come  this 
way,  when  I  jolt  over  the  stones  between  these  bleak, 
blank  walls  which  give  no  help  to  the  imagination, 
and  rather  restrain  than  stimulate  heroic  hallucinations, 
I  realize  that  the  first  believers  in  our  faith  were  men 
and  women  with  flesh  and  bones  and  cowardice  like 
our  own,  but  who  overcame  everything  by  belief  in  a 
great  ideal." 

"Are  you  a  Christian,  then?     I  didn't  know  it." 

"I  have  no  active  disbelief." 

"But  no  active  faith." 

"I  shouldn't  venture  to  .say  that.  My  people,  like 
your  husband's — I  beg  your  pardon,  like  Harry  Vassall's 
— were  among  the  founders  of  American  Episcopalian- 
ism.  It's  hard  to  shake  off  hereditary  ideas,  even  when 
they  lose  their  hold  on  you." 

"Of  course.  It  is  atavism  that  keeps  the  Christian 
Church  alive." 

"Nor  should  I  venture  to  say  that.  The  Roman 
slaves  and  tradesmen  whose  feet,  tramping  out  to  the 
Catacombs,  have  given  this  way  a  kind  of  sanctity, 
must  have  found  something  very  vital  to  have  made 

305 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

them  what  they  became.  I  fancy  that  that,  whatever 
it  may  have  been,  is  always  here;  and  that  the  power 
which  builds  and  fills  the  churches  is  not  a  mere  hered 
itary  doggedness,  but  a  real  force  which  comes  out 
from  God." 

"  I'm  surprised  to  hear  you  say  that.  You  seem  to  me 
otherwise  so  broad-minded." 

"  I  have  an  idea,  Mrs.  Vassall,  that  the  narrowness 
belongs  to  the  good  people  who  insist  on  denying  that 
you  can  see  through  a  telescope  that  which  cannot  be 
discerned  by  the  naked  eye.  I  believe  there  is  a  tele 
scope." 

"  I  might  do  so,  too,  if  I  ever  knew  any  one  who  had 
used  one." 

"I  have." 

"You?"  Petrina's  tone  was  incredulous.  "When? 
Where?  How?" 

"  I  shall  answer  two  of  your  questions ;  not  the  third. 
When?  Less  than  three  years  ago.  Where?  In  the 
Church  of  St.  Stephen  in  Vienna." 

"And  how?  I  insist.  I  am  keenly  interested  to 
know." 

"  The  moment  may  come  when  I  shall  tell  you.  But 
it  isn't  to-day." 

"  How  queer  you  Christian  people  are  !  You  keep 
your  religious  experiences  hermetically  sealed.  You 
remind  me  of  Gentian  de  Bohun's  mother,  who  used  to 
belong  to  a  sect  in  which  it  was  forbidden  to  speak  of 
their  doctrines  before  non-believers.  I  never  could  draw 
out  of  Harry  Vassall  what  it  was  he  believed  in,  or  what 
good  it  did  him  to  believe  it.  He  seemed  to  think  me  too 
much  of  an  outcast  to  hear  anything  about  it.  He 
hugged  his  religion  to  himself  until  I  grew  to  be  nearly 
jealous  of  it.  I  see  that  you  wrould  do  the  same.  If  I  ever 
had  much  to  do  with  you  I  am  certain  your  religion, 

306 


Let  Not   Man  Put    Asunder 

such  as  it  is,  would  separate  us,  just  as  it  stood  like  a 
spectre  between  Harry  and  me." 

Talking  thus,  they  drove  up  to  the  gate  of  entry  to  the 
Catacombs. 

"How  dreary!"  she  murmured,  as  they  walked  up 
towards  the  mouth  of  the  pit.  "Why  hasn't  Chris 
tianity  built  a  great  temple  here?  If  I  were  Pope,  it  is 
on  this  spot  I  should  have  my  St.  Peter's,  rather  than 
on  the  Vatican.  And  fancy  paying  two  lire  for  the 
privilege  of  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  the  martyrs," 
she  continued,  as  they  followed  the  French-speaking 
Dutch  monk  who  conducted  them  down  into  the  dark. 

"You  forget  that  we  come  not  as  pilgrims  but  as 
sight-seers ;  and  to  scoff  rather  than  to  pray.  I  wonder 
that  we  should  be  admitted  at  any  price." 

"  I  don't  like  it/'  Petrina  gasped,  with  a  shudder,  when 
they  had  lost  sight  of  the  daylight.  The  monk  went 
before  them  with  a  torch.  They  heard  footsteps  and 
men's  laughter  behind  them. 

"Eh  bien,  messieurs,"  the  monk  cried,  turning  sud 
denly.  " Que  faites-vous  la?  Vous  n'avez  pas  paye." 

The  monk  came  back,  and  the  light  of  the  torch  re 
vealed  two  young  men  with  the  air  of  Harvard  under 
graduates. 

"  Je  ne  crois  pas  qu'ils  vous  comprennent ,"  said 
Lechmere. 

"  7/5  me  comprennent  assez  bien,  monsieur,"  expos 
tulated  the  monk,  angrily.  "  J'ai  plein  le  dos  de  ces 
gaillards  americains  qui  veulent  entrer  sans  payer.  Ex- 
cusez-moi  un  moment  pour  que  je  les  reconduise." 

In  an  instant  the  monk  had  disappeared,  followed 
by  the  two  laughing  lads.  Petrina  and  Lechmere  were 
in  the  dark. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  she  whispered.  "  Let  us  go  out  again. 
I  hate  it." 

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Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Then  she  felt  Lechmere  take  her  hand. 

"It's  only  for  a  minute/'  he  said,  reassuringly. 
"There's  the  light  coming  back." 

Petrina  did  not  withdraw  her  hand  until  the  monk 
returned.  Then  they  went  on  to  where  the  chambers 
and  galleries  were  lighted. 

But  her  interest  was  at  an  end.  Through  her  glove 
she  felt  the  warmth  of  the  pressure  of  his  hand.  She 
knew  it  meant  nothing,  that  it  could  mean  nothing; 
but  the  very  fact  that  it  did  mean  nothing  frightened 
her.  The  sense  of  being  in  a  false  position,  which  had 
never  wholly  left  her  since  they  had  met  at  Tivoli,  re 
turned  with  increased  force. 

On  the  way  back  to  Rome  she  talked  gayly  and  ig 
nored  the  incident  in  the  Catacombs,  but  she  had  not 
ceased  to  feel  his  hand  clasping  hers,  even  when  he 
said  good-bye  to  her  at  the  hotel. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  she  called,  carelessly,  just  as 
he  was  turning  away,  "  that  I  leave  for  Florence  to 
morrow.  I'm  so  sorry  I  sha'n't  see  you  again,  but  no 
doubt  we  shall  meet  somewhere  some  time.  You've 
been  so  extremely  kind  that  it's  rather  banal  to  say 
Thank  you ;  but  I  do  say  it  just  the  same." 

"Isn't  this  a  sudden  decision?"  he  asked,  with  brows 
knitted,  as  he  came  back  to  her  again. 

"No;  not  at  all,"  she  answered,  untruthfully.  "I've 
been  a  little  tired  of  Rome  for  a  week  and  more." 

"Ah!" 

"That  is,  I  should  have  been  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you,"  she  added,  with  compunction. 

"Thanks  for  the  qualification,"  he  said,  dryly, 
"  Shall  you  be  long  in  Florence?" 

"Only  to  pass  through." 

"  On  your  way  to — " 

"I  don't  know  yet.  I'm  thinking  of  London,  but 

308 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

I'm  also  thinking  of  Moscow,  and  of  a  dozen  other 
places  that  lie  between." 

'"The  world  was  all  before  them  where  to  choose 
their  place  of  rest/  "  Lechmere  quoted. 

'"And  Providence  their  guide/"  she  finished,  with 
a  laugh.  "That's  the  nearest  intimation  I  can  give 
you  of  my  future  halting -place.  So  good-bye,  and 
thank  you  once  again." 

Lechmere  took  his  dismissal  quietly — so  quietly  that 
when  Petrina  went  to  her  room  she  was  a  little  vexed. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  Pange  lingua  gloriosi 
Corporis  mysterium." 

PETRINA  started  from  her  reverie.  The  words  rose 
like  a  cry  of  mingled  grief  and  victory.  The  organ 
rolled  out  the  solemn  plain-song  with  primitive  medi 
aeval  harmonies.  Three  thousand  Austrian  Catholics 
were  singing  as  they  only  sing  in  whom  music  and  de 
votion  are  instinctive.  Up  to  the  present  moment  she 
had  sat  far  back  in  the  church,  aloof  from  the  congre 
gation  crowding  in  and  about  the  choir.  She  was 
buried  in  her  own  thoughts.  The  voice  of  the  priest 
in  the  sanctuary  came  to  her  only  as  a  distant  murmur ; 
the  movements  and  genuflections  of  the  acolytes,  in 
scarlet  cassocks  and  cottas  bordered  with  lace,  were 
meaningless  to  her.  She  was  vaguely  conscious  of 
many  lights  about  the  high  altar,  and  blazing  can 
dles  carried  to  and  fro.  To  these  details  she  paid  no 
attention.  She  had  not  come  to  St.  Stephen's  for 
afternoon  Benediction.  She  had  come — she  knew  not 
why.  But  now,  as  the  hymn  arose,  she  started.  The 
Latin  words  were  familiar  to  her,  but  to-day  some 
thing  in  them  moved  her  with  a  curious  thrill.  Pange 
lingua  I  It  was  like  the  clashing  of  wild  cymbals  over 
tragedy  and  disaster.  Gloriosi  corporis  mysterium! 
It  was  like  the  shout  of  a  host  whose  faith  will  not 
own  defeat. 

"What  do  they  mean?"  she  asked  herself,  as  she 

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Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

looked  up  the  dim  aisle  at  the  kneeling,  singing  mul 
titude.  "Some  of  them  are  ecstatic.  Most  of  them 
are  sincere.  But  what  do  they  mean?  Was  he  right 
when  he  said,  the  other  day,  that  the  power  which  en 
abled  the  Roman  slaves  to  be  martyrs  is  still  here?" 
And  then  she  passed  into  reverie  again. 

"Nobis  datus,  nobis  natus, 
Ex  intacta  virgine." 

The  stately  hymn  rolled  on,  but  Petrina  was  going  back 
over  the  drive  along  the  Appian  Way  to  the  Catacombs, 
till  she  came,  for  the  hundredth  time,  to  the  moment 
when,  in  the  darkness,  Lechmerehad  touched  her  hand. 

"I  suppose  it  is  because  I  am  alone,"  she  mused, 
"  that  I  think  so  much  about  him.  It  is  because  no  one 
else  shows  any  interest  in  me  that  I  have  come  to  look 
to  him." 

She  was  not  in  love  with  him.  She  faced  that  ques 
tion  frankly,  and  knew  that  she  had  not  yet  reached 
the  moment  when  she  could  love  any  one ;  but  she  was 
aware  of  some  sympathy  between  them  which  made 
her  glad  when  he  was  near. 

Her  loneliness  weighed  on  her  once  more.  In  leav 
ing  Rome  she  had  felt  herself  setting  out  again  on  a 
trackless,  solitary  sea.  Florence,  Verona,  and  Inns 
bruck  had  been  stopping-places  on  the  road  to  nowhere. 
A  certain  time  must  be  filled  in  before  the  date  of  her 
visit  to  Orpington  Park,  and  to  pass  those  weeks  she 
must  wander.  She  would  go  to  Vienna,  she  said,  be 
cause  she  wanted  clothes.  But  she  had  not  forgotten 
the  remark  made  by  Lechmere  in  connection  with  St. 
Stephen's.  She  remembered  the  lofty  German  Gothic 
church ;  she  had  often  noticed  its  green-tiled,  patterned 
roof  when,  on  other  visits  to  Vienna,  she  had  been  shop- 


Let   Not    Man    Put    Asunder 

ping  in  the  Graben ;  but  she  had  never  entered.  Now, 
on  this  Sunday  afternoon,  she  felt  a  desire  to  do  so.  It 
was  a  place  in  which  Lechmere  had  passed  through 
some  unusual  experience;  therefore  she  would  go  and 
see  it.  As  she  reached  the  cathedral  vespers  were  end 
ing,  and  she  seated  herself  at  the  west  end,  apart  from 
the  congregation.  The  service  of  Benediction  began. 
"I  can  understand,"  she  remarked,  silently,  "that  all 
this  pomp  and  mystery  should  impress  a  dreamy  nature 
like  his.  He  is  the  sort  of  man  to  hear  in  the  pealing 
of  the  organ  through  vaulted  aisles  a  voice  speaking 
from  heaven.  There  is  something  Gothic  in  his  char 
acter — something  at  once  mystical  and  barbaric." 

"Verum  caro,  panem  verum, 
Verbo  carnem  efficit." 

The  kneeling  multitude  sang  out  with  such  a  burst  of 
fervor  that  Petrina  looked  up  the  nave  again.  As  she 
did  so  the  blood  rushed  hotly  to  her  face;  for  Lechmere 
himself  was  coming  down.  He  was  glancing  at  the 
people  on  each  side,  as  though  in  search  of  some  one. 
She  shrank  behind  a  pillar.  It  was  very  dim  where 
she  was  sitting.  He  might  pass  her  by. 

But  the  hymn  ended  in  a  long,  plaintive  Amen,  and 
Lechmere  slipped  into  a  seat.  It  was  the  solemn  mo 
ment  of  the  service.  The  consecrated  host  was  taken 
from  the  tabernacle  and  exposed.  The  sanctuary  bell 
rang  thrice.  Those  who  had  been  sitting  knelt;  those 
who  had  been  kneeling  bent  lower.  Over  the  throng 
there  came  the  hush  of  self-abasement  before  the  mys 
tery  of  manifested  God.  Petrina  saw  Lechmere  fall 
upon  his  knees.  He  bowed  himself  down,  as  though  in 
adoring  faith.  It  was  her  opportunity.  She  rose  soft 
ly,  and,  passing  him  by,  stole  quietly  from  the  church. 

312 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

But  before  she  was  out  of  the  Stefansplatz  he  ac 
costed  her. 

"I  saw  you,"  he  said,  after  they  had  exchanged 
greetings.  "I  heard  you  go  by  when  you  went  out. 
When  the  people  rose  I  got  up  and  followed  you.  I 
hope  you  don't  mind?" 

"Only  to  the  extent  of  being  glad  to  see  you."  Pe- 
trina  held  out  her  hand,  and  tried  to  show  that  cordial 
ity  which  is  at  once  kindly  and  indifferent.  "  I  thought 
you  would  be  in  Paris  by  this  time." 

"No;  Fve  come  to  Vienna  from  Innsbruck." 

"And  you  went  to  Innsbruck  from — ?" 

"Verona." 

"And  to  Verona  from — ?" 

"Florence." 

"How  curious!     I  came  that  way  myself." 

"I  followed  you." 

"Of  course  it's  a  natural  route  from  Rome  if  one  is 
going  to  Vienna." 

"I  wasn't  going  to  Vienna." 

"Then  I'm  glad  you  changed  your  mind,  since  it  has 
given  me  the  opportunity  of  seeing  you  again." 

"You're  all  right?" 

"Yes,  thanks." 

"You 're  quite  well?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Your  courier  Giannini  is  satisfactory?" 

"Entirely." 

"You  didn't  have  any  trouble  with  the  customs' 
officials  at  Ala?" 

"None  whatever." 

"You're  comfortable  at  the  Bristol?" 

"In  every  way." 

"Then  there's  nothing  that  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Thank  you  very  much,  but  I  don't  think  there  is." 

313 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

"You're  not  lonely?" 

They  had  reached  the  Stock-im-Eisen ;  and  Petrina, 
finding  it  easier  not  to  answer  that  question,  stopped. 

"I'm  on  foot/'  she  said.  "I've  sent  my  carriage 
back  to  the  hotel." 

"  So  Giannini  told  me.  He  said  they  had  left  you  at 
the  Stef anskirche. " 

"Will  you  walk  with  me,  then?  Or  will  you  call  a 
carriage  for  me?" 

"Let  us  walk." 

"Then  you've  been  to  the  hotel?"  she  said,  as  they 
moved  along  the  Karnthner-Strasse.  "  How  did  you 
know  that  I  was  staying  there?" 

"They  told  me  at  the  Tyrolerhof  at  Innsbruck  that 
you  were  going  to  the  Bristol." 

"And  at  the  Hotel  de  Londres  in  Verona  they  told 
you  I  was  going  to  the  Tyrolerhof." 

"  Precisely.  And  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Ville  in  Florence 
I  learned  that  I  might  find  you  at  the  H6tel  de  Londres 
in  Verona." 

"Then  you  have  followed  me." 

"I  said  so  at  first." 

"May  I  ask  why?" 

"Are  you  going  to  be  offended?" 

"That  depends." 

"I  followed  you  for  the  reason  that  I  was  anxious 
about  you. " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  seemed  so  much  alone.  I  wanted  to 
assure  myself  that  no  harm  had  come  to  you." 

"  But  what  harm  could  come?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  was  anxious  about  you.  That's 
all." 

"And  you  have  travelled  all  the  way  to  Vienna  to 
satisfy  yourself  that  Giannini  was  honest,  and  that 

314 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

my  luggage  had  been  not  unduly  taxed  at  the  fron 
tier?" 

"  I  wanted  to  be  sure  you  were  all  right.  I  know  it  was 
a  liberty;  but  I  should  take  it  again  to  know  that  you 
were  free  from  petty  inconveniences.  If  you  are  an 
noyed,  don't  mind  saying  so ;  because,  right  or  wrong, 
I  mean  to  keep  you  more  or  less  in  sight  until  I  know 
that  you  are  safe  in  other  hands." 

"What  a  lot  of  this  garnet- work  there  is  in  Vienna," 
Petrina  remarked,  irrelevantly,  pointing  as  she  spoke 
to  a  shop-window  full  of  boxes,  brooches,  and  paper- 
knives  incrusted  with  red  stones.  "One  sees  so  much 
of  it  that  one  isn't  tempted  by  it.  And  yet  when  I  reach 
home  I  am  always  sorry  I  didn't  buy  some.  It  comes  in 
so  usefully  for  little  gifts  at  Christmas." 

She  caught  at  the  first  subject  which  suggested  itself. 
She  wanted  to  reflect  a  moment,  and  see  how  best  to 
treat  the  situation. 

"What  took  you  to  St.  Stephen's?"  he  asked,  abrupt 
ly,  a  few  minutes  later,  ignoring  her  attempt  to  com 
pare  the  Opera-house,  which  they  were  passing,  with 
that  in  Paris. 

"  I  had  never  been  there.  It  was  simply  the  idea  to  go. " 

"Was  it  any  recollection  of  what  I  said  to  you  in 
Rome?" 

"About  what?  I  don't  remember."  she  said,  boldly 
— finding  no  refuge  from  his  questions  but  in  mendacity. 

"About  an  experience  of  my  own." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  it  seems  to  me  that  I  recall — " 

"I  thought  you  would." 

"Why?  I  don't  pay  much  attention  to  people's  ex 
periences  as  a  rule." 

"  So  I  supposed.     And  yet  that  day — " 

"You  thought  my  feminine  curiosity  was  roused. 
Well,  it  wasn't." 

315 


Let  Not   Man   Put  Asunder 

"I  was  not  going  to  say  curiosity.  The  word  I  had 
chosen  was — but  perhaps  it  is  useless  to  say  it.  You've 
always  been  rather  baffling  to  me.  You  seem  as  if  you 
were  going  to  be  one  thing,  but  you  become  another. 
One  looks  in  you  for  depths — " 

"And  finds  only  shallows.     Thanks." 

"No;  but  one  runs  upon  a  rock." 

"But  there  are  charts,  you  know.  A  good  sailor 
avoids  a  dangerous  coast." 

"No;  a  good  sailor  learns  how  to  sail  along  a  dan 
gerous  coast  without  making  shipwreck." 

"And  your  own  seamanship  is  excellent,  no  doubt." 

"  When  I  see  breakers  ahead  I  take  warning." 

"  What  does  that  mean?" 

"That  I  should  never  presume  upon  your  kindness. 
I  should  know  that  you  had  many  punishments  for  that 
offence." 

"I  could  inflict  a  punishment,  perhaps;  but  in  your 
case  I  vshould  find  it  hard  to  detect  the  crime." 

"  That's  kindly  put.  But  we're  coming  to  the  Bristol. 
Shall  we  walk  up  the  Ring-Strasse  a  bit?  Or  are  you 
tired?" 

"No;  I'm  not  tired.  I  shall  be  glad  of  the  walk.  I 
will  go  as  far  as  the  Albertina." 

They  turned  into  the  Opernring,  and  for  a  minute  or 
two  walked  side  by  side  in  silence.  Petrina  was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"What  was  the  word  you  declined  to  use  just  now?" 

"  You  mean  what  is  the  quality  I  thought  I  had  wak 
ened  in  you  in  Rome.  Sympathy." 

"For  whom?" 

"Forme." 

"For  what?" 

"I  think  you  know." 

"  When  a  man  and  a  woman  have  made  an  unhappy 

316 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

marriage/'  said  Petrina,  distinctly,  "my  sympathy  is 
first  for  her." 

"But  secondly  for  him." 

"Perhaps." 

"I  should  never  ask  more  than  that." 

"  I  scarcely  know  whether  you  are  exacting  or  easily 
satisfied." 

"I  am  both." 

"  In  any  case  I  should  like  to  say,  what  I  haven't  said 
yet,  that  I  am  extremely  touched  by  your  solicitude 
on  my  behalf.  I  want  to  thank  you  for  it." 

"With  a  request  not  to  do  it  again." 

Petrina  colored,  but  laughed. 

"  It  doesn't  make  my  gratitude  the  less  sincere  if  I  re 
mind  you  that,  situated  as  I  am,  anything  unusual 
is  sure  to  bring  unpleasant  remark  upon  me." 

"  You  were  not  afraid  of  the  unusual  a  few  years  ago." 

"  Nor  am  I  now ;  but,  as  things  are,  I  am  obliged  to  be 
very  careful." 

"  Being  careful  won't  make  any  difference.  There  are 
circumstances  under  which  you  will  appear  guilty,  no 
matter  how  innocent  you  are." 

"I  will  turn  back  now,"  said  Petrina,  with  a  deeper 
color.  She  was  troubled  by  his  presence,  even  though 
she  enjoyed  the  short  relief  from  solitude.  She  was  mys 
tified  by  his  words,  even  though  she  was  sorry  when  he 
said  good-bye.  He  did  not  ask  the  length  of  her  stay 
in  Vienna,  nor  inquire  in  which  direction  she  meant  to 
go  afterwards.  He  left  her  as  though  it  were  understood 
that,  wherever  she  went,  they  should  meet  again. 

But  before  returning  to  her  rooms  Petrina  sent  an 
urgent  telegram  to  Emilia  de  Bohun,  begging  to  be 
allowed  to  come  to  her  without  more  delay. 

317 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  was  May  again  in  England. 

On  the  terrace  at  Orpington  Park,  Petrina,  leaning 
back  in  her  wicker  garden-chair,  was  finding  repose  for 
her  tired  spirit  in  the  peace  of  the  embowered  country. 
She  had  arrived  from  Vienna  on  the  previous  evening, 
and,  though  it  was  now  afternoon,  she  had  left  her  room 
for  the  first  time  that  day.  Emmy  had  forced  her  to 
rest  after  the  long  and  rapid  journey. 

The  servants  had  arranged  the  tea-table  under  the 
shadow  of  the  great  yew-tree.  Petrina  was  waiting  for 
her  hostess,  who  was  reading  to  little  Humphrey  at  the 
other  end  of  the  terrace.  The  soft  afternoon  light  made 
the  mists  hanging  over  the  landscape  golden.  The 
hawthorn  was  coming  into  flower,  and  the  air  was  filled 
with  the  delicate  odors  of  spring. 

Petrina  thought  of  Faneuil  Hill,  where  the  wooded 
mountains  were  now  just  growing  green.  She  wondered 
at  herself  for  having  none  of  her  usual  spring  longing 
for  New  Hampshire.  She  thought  of  Vassall,  and  won 
dered  at  herself  still  more.  He  had  faded  from  her  life. 
It  was  almost  as  if  she  had  never  known  him.  Even 
the  aching  resentment  with  which  she  had  preserved 
his  memory  was  nearly  gone. 

"My  marriage  to  him,"  she  said,  with  an  indefin 
able  smile,  "was  like  one  of  those  friendships  formed 
at  sea — very  intimate  while  the  voyage  lasts,  but  ended 
before  one  has  had  time  to  say  good-bye." 

She    was    surprised   at    it.      She    was  surprised   at 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

herself.     She  could  not  understand  her  own  indiffer 
ence. 

"It  must  be  that  I  am  heartless/'  she  went  on,  mus 
ingly.  "My  affections  must  be  'writ  in  water/  like 
Keats's  name/' 

The  memories  of  the  Villa  d'Este  and  Vienna  were 
very  vivid,  while  those  in  which  Vassall  played  a  part 
were  faint  and  far  away.  Her  life  in  Boston  was  in 
distinct  to  her,  as  though  seen  across  a  haze  of  years. 
Considering  how  she  had  suffered  while  her  troubles 
had  lasted,  it  was  almost  humiliating  to  have  ceased 
to  feel  so  soon. 

"How  different  it  has  been  with  Emmy!"  she  con 
tinued  to  herself.  "Divorce  has  drawn  her  nearer  to 
Humphrey  rather  than  farther  away.  She  has  be 
come  a  model  mother,  and  goes  to  church  every  day. 
Who  would  ever  have  thought  it?" 

Lady  de  Bohun  handed  her  little  boy  over  to  his 
maid  and  came  to  make  the  tea.  Petrina  watched 
her  as  she  advanced,  noting  that  her  hair  was  grow 
ing  gray  and  that  the  pretty,  wistful  face  had  quite 
lost  its  youthfulness. 

"  But  she  has  a  charm  which  age  will  not  take  away," 
Petrina  commented.  "  And  the  fact  that  she  is  indif 
ferent  to  it  makes  it  only  the  more  likely  to  last." 

"How  good  it  is  to  see  you  there!"  Lady  de  Bohun 
cried,  as  she  came  nearer.  "  I  am  only  now  beginning  to 
feel  that  you  have  really  come.  I'm  so  glad  you  didn't 
wrait  at  Vienna,  after  you  found  that  you  were  free. " 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  means  to  me,  Emmy  dear, 
to  have  had  this  house  as  a  refuge." 

"A  refuge  from  what,  Petrina?"  Lady  de  Bohun 
asked,  as  she  began  to  busy  herself  with  the  tea  things. 

"Oh,  from  everything — from  travel,  and  hotels,  and 
ennui,  and  from  myself  most  of  all." 

319 


Let   Not  Man   Put   Asunder 

"Don't  you  find  that  in  your  position  and  mine  one 
has  moments  of  rather  pitiful  retrospection?  Aren't 
you  always  asking  yourself  whether  or  not  it  was  worth 
while?" 

"I  don't  think  so.     If  it  was  to  do  again — " 

"You'd  do  it?" 

"Wouldn't  you?" 

"There  are  so  many  inconveniences/'  said  Lady  de 
Bohun,  as  she  handed  Petrina  her  cup.  "Since  I've 
been  free  I  haven't  been  able  to  find  myself,  so  to  speak. 
I  keep  referring  things  mentally  to  Humphrey,  as  if  he 
were  still  here." 

"By-the-way,  how  is  Humphrey?" 

"He's  well,  I  think.  But,  0  Petrina!  he's  so 
changed;  you  wouldn't  know  him.  Gentian  watches 
him  like  a  cat  watching  a  mouse,  and  he  quails  before 
her  like  a  mouse  watching  a  cat.  Of  course  it's  a 
comfort  to  me,  because  I  know  how  much  it  makes  him 
regret  me  and  my  loose  rein." 

"  There  are  no  Hetty  Viennes  any  more,  then?" 

"  Not  the  ghost  of  one.  Humphrey's  a  reformed 
man.  He's  not  nearly  so  smart,  either.  His  spirit 
seems  broken,  poor  old  bov!" 

"And  Gentian?" 

"Right  on  the  mounting  wave.  She'll  arrive  one 
of  these  days;  but  she  has  worked  hard  for  her 
place." 

"Did  people  treat  her  kindly?" 

"  Not  at  first.  You  see  their  marriage  having  taken 
place  in  America,  they  didn't  know  about  it  over  here. 
When  invitations  came  for  Lady  de  Bohun,  they  were 
meant  for  me  but  went  to  Gentian.  She  turned  up  in 
houses  where  I  was  expected,  and  had  all  the  humilia 
tion  of  the  explanation  and  of  being  an  unwelcome 
guest.  The  mistakes  during  the  first  season  were  sim- 

320 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

ply  farcical.  But  all  that  is  over  now,  and  she  is  very 
well  received." 

"And  how  do  you  feel  about  it,  Emmy?" 

"I?  I  don't  feel  at  all.  I've  got  beyond  that  point. 
But  I've  had  my  eyes  opened." 

"To  what?"  There  was  more  earnestness  in  Pe- 
trina's  question  than  she  showed. 

"To  the  position  of  women  who  divorce  their  hus 
bands." 

"Ah!" 

"There  is  a  great  deal  of  misapprehension  on  the 
subject  among  those  who  haven't  done  it." 

"It  would  naturally  interest  me  to  hear  in  what  re 
spect." 

"  In  divorce,  as  a  matter  of  theory,  there  is  a  clear 
distinction  between  the  innocent  and  the  guilty  wife." 

"Of  course." 

"But  as  a  matter  of  practice  there  is  none.  The 
world  knows  nothing  about  our  rights  and  wrongs. 
Even  where  it  does  know,  it  doesn't  care  or  it  doesn't 
remember.  It  sees  a  woman  who  had  a  husband  going 
about  without  one.  It  is  only  an  occasional  just  man 
here  and  there  who  stops  to  ask  why.  It  is  all  the 
same  to  the  mass  of  the  people  we  meet.  In  any  case, 
the  woman  has  committed  the  worst  of  sins — she  has 
created  scandal  and  taken  the  public  as  the  confidant  of 
her  troubles.  For  that  there  is  no  pardon,  even  when 
there  is  discrimination.  Take  the  instance  of  Gen 
tian  and  myself.  In  equity  my  position  is  better  than 
hers.  In  society  hers  is  better  than  mine.  I  will  go 
further  still.  She  has  a  position.  I  have  none  at  all. 
She  is  Humphrey's  wife;  while  I  am  nobody.  If  it 
were  not  for  the  children  I  might  as  well  take  my  maiden 
name." 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  exaggerating,  Emmy 

321 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

dear?"  Petrina  was  a  little  frightened  at  the  new  view 
which  was  thus  presented  to  her. 

"It  would  be  hard  to  exaggerate  what  I've  been 
through.  I've  mingled  my  drink  with  weeping  many 
a  time,  though  it's  all  past  now,  and  I  begin  to  accept 
my  portion.  When  I  say  society,  remember  I  don't 
mean  only  the  general  assembly  of  the  first-born  in 
London.  I  mean  the  world  at  large — the  people  one 
comes  in  contact  with  anywhere  and  anyhow.  In 
what  light  do  you  suppose  they  regard  me?  Why,  as 
Humphrey  de  Bohun's  discarded  wife;  as  the  woman 
who  sinned  against  him  in  some  vague,  unexplained 
way,  but  sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  be  rid  of  her.  I 
admit  that  now  and  then  some  one  does  take  the  trouble 
to  learn  or  to  recollect  the  truth;  but  for  the  majority, 
especially  for  the  people  whom  I  used  to  care  most  for, 
I'm  a  cast-off.  Gentian  isn't  merely  Humphrey's  sec 
ond  wife.  She  is  a  good  and  virtuous  woman  who 
reigns  in  my  stead." 

"  But,  Emmy,  why  did  you  give  up  Humphrey,  when 
you  really  cared  for  him?" 

"I'm  surprised  at  you,  Petrina,"  Lady  de  Bohun 
cried,  with  a  hard  laugh.  "Isn't  the  answer  to  that 
question  self-evident?  Because  I  was  a  fool.  Be 
cause  I  thought  I  knew  my  world,  when  I  knew  noth 
ing  at  all  about  it.  Because  I  thought  I  had  sounded 
my  own  heart,  when  I  hadn't  skimmed  its  surface.  Be 
cause  I  took  society  at  its  word,  when  it  is  the  very  last 
guarantee  I  should  have  accepted.  Because  I  didn't 
know  that  in  England,  where  marriage  is  the  question, 
we  can  be  mighty  in  speech,  but  must  be  very  conven 
tional  in  action.  Because,  in  short,  Petrina  dear,  I've 
been  a  foolish  person  among  foolish  people — a  people 
who  have  taught  themselves  with  lies,  and  perverted 
their  minds  by  paradox,  and  fed  their  souls  on  ashes ; 

322 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

who  have  confused  what  is  simple,  and  corrupted  what 
is  natural,  and  believed  that  anything  could  be  right 
but  to  do  good,  or  be  good,  or  to  care  for  the  wholesome 
and  the  sane." 

"So  you  are  reforming  as  well  as  Humphrey?" 
"  Humphrey  and  I  are  beginning  to  find  out  that  we 
have  souls.  It  seems  an  absurd  discovery  to  make  at 
our  time  of  life,  but  it  has  come  upon  us  unawares." 
"I  should  think  it  might  be  rather  uncomfortable." 
"  It  is  worse  than  that,  for  we  find  that,  while  having 
souls,  no  man  careth  for  them.  It  really  isn't  a  world 
in  which  to  educate  an  immortal  spirit.  I  feel  that 
keenly.  As  I  look  back  it  seems  as  if  life  had  been  or 
ganized  to  puzzle  and  befool  a  simple  creature  like  me, 
until  I've  completely  lost  the  thread  of  it.  If  to-day  I 
find  myself  side-tracked,  in  a  ridiculous  position,  a 
wife  yet  not  a  wife,  it  isn't  all  my  fault.  I've  been  mis 
led  by  people  who  insist  on  the  right  of  a  woman  to  re 
lease  herself,  and  yet  turn  their  backs  upon  her  if  she 
does  it.  I've  been  misled  by  law-givers  who  encourage 
you  to  do  the  thing  by  making  it  so  easy,  but  who  can 
offer  you  no  position  or  protection  when  it  is  done.  I've 
been  misled  by  a  Church  which  has  either  not  the  cour 
age  or  the  conviction  to  speak  boldly,  and  say  that  mar 
riage  must  be  either  this  or  that,  but  leaves  you  to  find 
your  own  way,  and  frowns  on  you  when  you  have 
taken  it.  The  whole  subject  of  marriage  is  in  chaos; 
and  I'm  the  victim  of  present-day  confusion.  But  it 
has  taught  me  this,  that  there  is  only  one  safe  condi 
tion  for  a  woman. " 
"And  what  is  that?" 

"To  be  either  single,  married,  or  a  widow.  To  be 
divorced  is  nothing  at  all.  For  a  free  woman  with  a 
husband,  of  a  free  man  with  a  wife,  there  is  no  place. 
Society  isn't  organized  to  receive  them.  Their  footing 

323 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

is  uncertain;  and  in  human  society,  when  once  your 
footing  is  uncertain,  you  are  as  good  as  lost." 

Petrina  flushed  and  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  saying  that  for  you,  dear/'  Emilia  has 
tened  to  explain.  "  You're  cleverer  than  I,  and  you'll 
be  able,  no  doubt,  to  carry  it  off.  I'm  a  coward  at  heart, 
you  know.  When  I  was  met  with  a  stare  or  a  snub  or  a 
word  that  had  two  meanings  I  could  do  nothing  but  run 
off  and  hide  in  the  country.  Besides,  I  didn't  care.  I 
had  lost  heart  for  the  world.  I  was  happier  here  in 
peace  with  my  baby.  But  I'm  not  contented.  I  protest 
against  the  whole  thing.  That's  why  I  go  to  church 
every  day.  Personally,  the  growth  in  grace  doesn't 
justify  the  effort;  but  I  am  crying  out  for  deliverance 
from  a  confused  and  confusing  state  of  things,  which 
is  bringing  us  all  into  a  condition  of  folly  and  disorder." 

Lady  de  Bohun  leaned  forward  in  her  garden-chair 
and  seemed  to  expect  from  Petrina  something  in  the 
way  of  a  rejoinder.  But  nothing  came.  Petrina  was 
thinking  of  Lechmere's  words  in  Vienna:  "Being 
careful  won't  make  any  difference.  There  are  circum 
stances  under  which  you  will  appear  guilty,  no  matter 
how  innocent  you  are."  Was  this  what  he  meant? 
Did  he,  with  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  foresee  that 
her  experience  would  be  in  the  order  of  that  which  Emmy 
had  just  described?  Petrina  shuddered.  She  had  not 
expected  that,  outside  of  Boston  and  its  prejudices, 
society  could  look  askance  at  her ;  and  the  thought 
was  not  to  be  borne  easily. 

"What  should  I  do  if  that  were  true?"  she  asked 
herself. 

"  There  is  only  one  course  for  a  woman  who  has  di 
vorced  a  husband,"  Lady  de  Bohun  began,  as  if  in 
answer  to  Petrina Js  thought.  "  It  is  to  marry  again. 
Better  any  kind  of  man  than  none.  A  single  woman 

324 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

may  stay  single;  a  widow  may  prefer  a  state  of  widow 
hood  ;  but  the  divorced  woman  must  go  on ;  she  must 
put  herself  beyond  criticism.  As  soon  as  she  has  lost 
one  man's  protection  she  must  get  under  another's." 

"And  if  she  doesn't?" 

"  Then  so  much  the  worse  for  her.  She  must  either 
go  and  be  buried  alive  like  me,  or  she  must  live  in  a 
world  that  has  shut  its  heart  and  loosened  its  tongue 
against  her." 

"  But  you  haven't  married,  Emmy.  You  could  have 
done  so  if  you  had  chosen." 

"  And  could  do  so  still,  thank  God.  There  have  been 
times  when  I've  been  tempted  to  do  it,  just  to  have  a 
name  and  a  place  once  more  among  men.  But  the 
children  don't  like  Gerald,  and  I'm  not  perfectly  sure 
that  I  care  enough  for  him  myself." 

"He  is  still  waiting  then?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  think  he  enjoys  it.  He's  old  enough  to 
know  that  anticipation  is  better  than  reality.  That 
keeps  him  patient." 

"And  don't  you  mean  to  accept  him  one  day?" 

"I  don't  think  Humphrey  would  like  it." 

"But  Humphrey  has  married,  himself." 

"  Inadvertently.  He  never  would  have  done  it  if  he 
had  given  himself  time  to  consult  me." 

"  But  would  you  consult  him?" 

"  Why,  certainly,  Petrina.  For  what  sort  of  a  woman 
do  you  take  me?" 

Petrina  smiled,  but  said  nothing.  When  she  broke 
the  silence  it  was  timidly. 

"You  hear  from  your  mother,  of  course?" 

"  Yes,  poor  dear  old  lady.  She  bears  up  wonderfully, 
considering  everything." 

"And,"  Petrina  began  with  greater  hesitation, 
"Harry  writes  sometimes,  I  suppose?" 

325 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"Sometimes;  not  often.     He  is  buried  in  business." 

"Does  he  ever  speak  of — of — me?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Because  I  want  to  know." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  the  exact  truth?" 

"Certainly." 

"Then  he  never  speaks  of  you?" 

"  Never?" 

"Never." 

This  was  not  the  answer  Petrina  had  expected.  To 
her  surprise  it  fell  on  her  like  another  blow.  She  be 
lieved  she  had  forgotten  him,  but  it  was  incredible  that 
he  should  have  forgotten  her.  She  felt  vaguely  that  it 
was  something  else  to  treasure  up  against  him.  To 
conceal  her  agitation  she  leaned  forward  and  placed 
her  empty  cup  upon  the  table.  Emmy's  eyes,  she 
knew,  were  on  her,  and  she  felt  the  necessity  for  be 
ing  bolder. 

"He  will  marry  some  day,  I  suppose,"  she  ventured. 

"Probably,"  Lady  de  Bohun  returned.  "And  you 
too." 

"Probably,"  Petrina  assented,  laconically,  and  then 
without  knowing  why,  blushed  hotly. 

"I  think  you  said  you  had  seen  Mr.  Lechmere  in 
Vienna,"  Lady  de  Bohun  went  on,  pitilessly. 

"Once,"  Petrina  assented. 

"Only  once?" 

"  Certainly,  Emmy.     Why  should  you  question  me?" 

"Don't  be  angry,  dear.  I  had  no  motive.  What 
did  you  think  I  meant?  I  only  happened  to  remember 
that  he  had  rented  Oldbarns  from  Gerald  Bertie — the 
pretty  cottage,  you  know,  on  the  outskirts  of  Keston 
Park." 

"Then  he  is  coming  back  to  England?" 

"  If  he  isn't  already  here." 

326 


Let   Not   Man   Put  Asunder 

"And  what  about  his  wife?"  Petrina  had  regained 
her  self-possession  and  spoke  easily. 

"I've  been  told  she  has  altogether  lost  her  voice. 
She  was  hissed  in  St.  Petersburg  a  year  or  more  ago, 
and  since  then,  I  believe,  she  hasn't  been  singing  any 
where.  She  has  been  ill,  too,  and  when  I  last  heard 
of  her  had  lost  most  of  her  beauty.  She  is  the  sort  of 
gypsy  creature  to  be  on  the  top  of  renown  to-day  and 
down  in  the  mire  to-morrow.  Poor  Felicia!  She  will 
be  sorry  one  day  not  to  have  gone  back  to  Dick  when 
he  would  have  taken  her." 

"Wouldn't  he  do  so  still?" 

"  Who  could  ever  tell  with  a  man  like  him?  His  is  one 
of  those  natures  that  are  deep  but  unstable;  generous 
but  cruel;  impressionable,  impulsive,  romantic,  poetic, 
but  no  better  to  depend  on  than  a  child's." 

"  I  remember  mamma  describing  him  as  a  Vandyke 
Charles  the  First  with  all  the  virtues  the  Roj^alists 
loved  and  all  the  weaknesses  the  Puritans  hated." 

"Which  strikes  me  as  rather  just.  Dick  is  at  once 
consistent  and  contradictory.  There  is  something  in 
him  of  the  monk  and  something  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  and  yet  not  enough  of  either  to  make  him  the  one 
or  the  other.  The  spiritual  and  the  carnal  in  him 
balance  each  other,  not  in  the  way  of  a  nicely  adjusted 
poise,  but  in  a  see-saw  fashion  which  gives  the  domina 
tion  to  each  in  turn.  If  he  were  not  so  sane  he  would 
be  mad;  and  I  sometimes  ask  myself  if  he  isn't." 

"Mr.  Lechmere,"  said  a  footman,  who  had  stepped 
silently  over  the  lawn. 

"Lord  save  us!"  cried  Lady  de  Bohun  with  a  start. 
"  There's  something  uncanny  in  a  man's  arriving  so 
patly  as  that." 

Petrina  sat  in  motionless  tension,  straining  to  keep 
her  self-command.  Emilia  rose  and  went  forward  to 

327 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

meet  Lechmere.  During  the  minute  or  two  in  which 
they  stood  exchanging  greetings  Petrina  got  herself  in 
hand.  When  Lechmere  and  Lady  de  Bohun  turned 
round  to  where  she  was  sitting  she  was  able  to  receive 
him  with  a  semblance  of  that  good-natured  welcome 
which  means  nothing. 

"  I've  come  to  take  possession  of  my  hut  at  Oldbarns/' 
he  said  when  they  were  seated.  "  I  arrived  from  Vienna 
yesterday.  But  this  afternoon  I  am  here  in  the  capacity 
of  herald.  I  have  to  announce  visitors  more  honorable 
and  more  important  than  I." 

"Explain  yourself/'  Lady  de  Bohun  demanded. 
"Few  come  nowadays  to  darken  these  poor  doors.  I 
expect  that  tea  is  cold." 

"It  is  hot  enough,  thanks/'  said  Lechmere,  taking 
his  cup  of  tea  and  tasting  it.  "  As  I  was  driving  through 
Keston  Park  I  passed  a  landau  full  of  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  who  hailed  me.  They  were  the  Duchess  of  Am- 
bleside,  Lady  Yorkshire,  Gerald  Bertie,  and  Taddles. 
They  told  me  they  were  coming  here." 

"Dick,  if  you  love  me/'  Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  trag 
ically,  "  go  and  meet  them  in  the  avenue  and  tell  them 
I  am  dead.  Tell  them  we  have  measles  in  the  house. 
Tell  them  anything  to  keep  them  out." 

"Who  is  Taddles?"  Petrina  asked. 

"Taddles,"  Lady  de  Bohun  explained,  "is  the  Duch 
ess's  name  for  Amos.  She  called  him  at  first  the  York 
shire  Terrier ;  you  can  guess  why.  Now  she  has  nick 
named  him  Taddles." 

"A  name  which  seems  to  suit  that  kind  of  dog," 
Lechmere  remarked. 

"Or  man,"  added  Lady  de  Bohun.  "But  if  they're 
really  coming  I  must  run  in  and  kill  the  fatted  calf,  in 
the  way  of  ordering  more  biscuits  and  tea.  Excuse  nle 
just  a  minute." 

328 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"What  a  rapid  traveller  you  are,"  Lechmere  said 
when  he  and  Petrina  were  alone. 

" I  may  say  the  same  of  you." 

"  I  had  to  keep  your  pace.  I  told  you  I  was  not  going 
to  lose  sight  of  you  until  you  were  at  the  end  of  your 
wanderings." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  kindness/'  said  Petrina,  trying 
to  take  a  light  tone.  "  But  you  see  that  I  am  out  of  all 
peril  now.  I  had  no  idea  that  it  was  so  unsafe  for  a 
woman  to  travel  alone." 

"One  imagines  dangers  where  one — cares  much." 

"There!"  Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  returning  to  her 
place.  "They  may  not  be  welcome,  but  at  least  they 
shall  not  go  empty  away." 

She  had  scarcely  seated  herself  when  voices  were 
heard  from  the  house,  and  the  Duchess,  followed  by  the 
other  three,  bustled  out  without  waiting  for  the  footman 
to  announce  her. 

"  My  poor  dear!"  she  called,  in  her  gurgling  voice,  as, 
with  both  hands  outstretched,  she  crossed  the  lawn 
towards  Lady  de  Bohun,  who  was  advancing  to  meet 
her.  "  My  poor  dear ! "  she  repeated  as  she  took  Emilia's 
hands.  "  To  think  that  you're  living,  after  all !  It  is 
quite  affecting." 

"I  feel  it  so,  Duchess,"  Emilia  laughed.  "I  never 
expected  to  see  you  in  this  world  again  —  nor  you, 
Lady  Yorkshire — nor  you,  Mr.  Amos.  It  is  so  kind 
of  you  all  to  come  and  see  me  in  my  tomb.  How 
do  you  do,  Gerald?  Take  the  Duchess  over  to  the  yew- 
tree.  You'll  find  some  chairs  and  some  old  friends 
there." 

"We're  staying  at  Keston  Castle,"  Lady  Yorkshire 
said,  languidly.  "  When  Major  Bertie  told  us  at  lunch 
that  you  were  in  this  neighborhood  we  thought  we 
should  like  to  see  you." 

329 


Let    Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"  And  for  me  to  see  you  is  like  a  glimpse  of  the  upper 
world  to  a  soul  in  nether  Tartarus." 

"Or  in  Paradise/'  suggested  Amos,  with  a  glance 
down  the  terraced  gardens. 

"Yes,  a  Paradise  near  town/'  Lady  Yorkshire  said, 
as  they  moved  slowly  towards  the  tea-table.  "That 
is  so  much  more  convenient  than  one  in  the  other  world. " 

"The  world  into  which  you  supposed  me  to  have 
gone/'  Lady  de  Bohun  laughed,  good-naturedly. 

"We  knew  you  were  one  whom  the  gods  loved/' 
Amos  drawled.  "It  didn't  seem  strange,  therefore, 
that  you  should  have  died  young.'' 

"Come  here,"  the  Duchess  called,  from  under  the 
yew-tree.  "  Here  is  Miss  Faneuil,  that  charming  Amer 
ican." 

"And  the  Duchess  of  Ambleside,  that  delicious  Eng 
lishwoman,"  Lechmere  added. 

"And  a  certain  Lechmere,  who  is  neither  fish  nor 
fowl  nor  good  red-herring,"  the  Duchess  rejoined,  with 
a  big,  jovial  laugh. 

"How  do  you?"  Lady  Yorkshire  held  out  her  hand 
to  Petrina,  and  spoke  in  a  tired  voice.  "I  haven't 
seen  you  for  a  long  time." 

"Did  you  think  she  was  dead,  too?"  Lady  de  Bohun 
inquired,  as  she  took  her  place  at  the  tea-table. 

"Not  to  see  Lady  Yorkshire  is  always  death,"  Bertie 
remarked,  as  he  arranged  the  chairs  for  the  ladies. 

"That's  sarcasm,"  said  the  Duchess,  sitting  down 
beside  Petrina. 

"Lady  Yorkshire  doesn't  think  so,  I'm  sure,"  pro 
tested  Bertie. 

"Nor  does  Amos,"  Lechmere  added,  taking  a  cup 
from  Lady  de  Bohun' s  hand  and  passing  it  to  the  Duch 
ess. 

"And  how  is  Mr.  Vassall?"  her  grace  asked,  turn- 
330 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

ing  suddenly  to  Petrina.  "Couldn't  I  -get  him  to  come 
down  to  Groombridge  next  week? — you,  too,  if  you 
wanted  to  come." 

"Thanks,  Duchess,  but  I'm  otherwise  engaged," 
Petrina  answered,  with  an  effort  not  to  seem  embar 
rassed. 

"But  he  isn't,  I  hope,"  the  Duchess  pursued.  "I 
should  love  to  have  him.  I  never  could  see  enough 
of  him  when  he  was  last  here.  He  seemed  to  fight 
shy  of  me.  Perhaps  he  thought  I  wasn't  in  ear 
nest." 

"No  man  could  ever  have  done  you  that  injustice, 
Duchess,"  Lady  Yorkshire  remarked,  with  a  grave 
suavity. 

"Do  tell  him  I  want  him,"  the  Duchess  went  on  to 
Petrina.  "Is  he  in  the  house?  Send  some  one  to 
fetch  him." 

"He's  in  America,"  Petrina  answered,  quietly. 

"America!"  the  Duchess  cried.  "Then  what  are 
you  doing  here?  Do  you  think  it  safe  to  leave  him 
all  alone?  I  shouldn't,  if  my  husband  had  such  an 
interesting  face.  I  remember  his  face  especially.  Has 
he  got  it  still?" 

"He  had  when  I  last  saw  him." 

"He  was  so  good-looking;  not  a  bit  like  an  Ameri 
can." 

"But,  Duchess,"  said  Bertie,  "Mr.  Amos  is  an  Amer 
ican,  and  he's  a  Belvedere  Apollo.  Isn't  he,  Lady 
Yorkshire?" 

"  Oh,  Taddles  1 "  cried  the  Duchess,  scornfully.  "  He's 
only  an  American  by  accident.  He  has  so  much  of 
the  blood  of  a  certain  people  famous  in  the  Bible  and 
finance  that  he  has  the  advantage  of  us  all  in  antiquity 
of  race." 

"I'm  afraid,  Duchess,"  said  Amos,  with  a  dark  flush, 

331 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"that  my  relations  in  that  direction  are  less  intimate 
than  your  own." 

"Oh, you  mean  the  money-lenders/'  the  Duchess  ad 
mitted,  frankly.  "  Yes,  you  can  always  have  me  there, 
worse  luck.  I've  no  reply  to  make  to  that  shot,  except 
to  say  that  if  there  were  no  spendthrift  Gentiles  there 
wouldn't  be  any  wealthy  Jews.  Would  there,  Agneta?" 

"Would  there  what?"  Lady  Yorkshire  affected  not 
to  have  heard,  though  she  too  had  flushed  at  the  allu 
sion  to  the  origin  of  Amos's  riches. 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  said  the  Duchess,  who  turned 
again  to  Petrina.  "  But  do  tell  me  about  Mr.  Vassall, 
Miss  Faneuil.  When  do  you  expect  him?  He  will 
surely  be  here  for  some  part  of  the  season.  You  won't 
let  him  come  without  telling  me  ?  That  would  be  cruel. 
I  see  his  face  still — such  a  nice,  serious,  ascetic  face — 
so  different  from  Ambleside's.  Does  he  never  ask 
about  me  when  he  writes?  There  was  a  time  when  I 
was  beginning  to  think  that  his  coldness  showed  signs 
of  melting;  but  just  then  you  whipped  him  away. 
Women  are  so  jealous,  even  when  there's  only  the 
slightest  cause.  Not  but  that  I  think  you're  right, 
with  such  a  good-looking  husband —  What?" 

The  Duchess  had  turned  with  this  sudden  question 
to  Bertie,  who,  passing  among  the  company  with  cakes 
and  biscuits,  had  stooped  and  whispered  something 
into  the  Duchess's  ear. 

"What?"  her  grace  repeated,  sharply.  "Don't  say 
anything  about  who?  I  didn't  catch  it.  Divorced,  did 
you  say?  Who's  divorced?  Don't  say  'sh — '  to  me 
now.  I  want  to  know  who's  divorced.  Surely  not  Miss 
Faneuil — and  from  that  delightful  man!" 

"Yes,  duchess,"  Petrina  said,  with  dignity.  "Mr. 
Vassall  and  I  are  divorced.  Please  do  not  discuss  the 
subject  further." 

332 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Of  course  not,  my  dear/'  the  Duchess  cried,  sym 
pathetically.  "No  one  with  any  delicacy  would  do  so. 
But  I'm  so  sorry  for  you,  poor  thing!  What  a  dread 
fully  equivocal  situation  it  puts  you  in!  Did  he  do  any 
thing  bad?  Did  he — "  And  here  the  Duchess  leaned 
forward  and  finished  her  question  in  a  whisper.  " No?" 
she  continued,  with  a  look  of  surprise,  as  Petrina  shook 
her  head.  "He  didn't?  Are  you  sure?  You  can't 
be  quite  sure.  He  might  have  done  so  without  your 
knowing  it,  and  it's  just  as  well  to  hang  a  man  for  a 
sheep  as  a  lamb,  while  you  are  about  it.  It  was  years 
after  I  first  began  to  suspect  Ambleside  before  I  learned 
that  I  was  right.  And  such  a  good-looking  man,  too 
— I  mean  Mr.  Vassall.  Why,  you  were  scarcely  mar 
ried,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it.  But  you  do  things  so 
quickly  in  America.  It  would  never  do  in  this  coun 
try,  would  it,  Agneta?  If  you  and  Yorkshire  divorced 
each  other  for  every  little  thing — " 

"Or  you  and  the  Duke/'  interposed  Lady  York 
shire. 

"  Or  the  Duke  and  I,  as  you  so  justly  observe — why, 
where  should  we  be?  Not  but  what  I've  been  tempted 
to  do  it,  many  and  many  a  time.  It  was  my  brother 
Jack — the  archbishop,  you  know — who  held  me  back. 
He's  so  wise,  Jack  is.  I  suppose  that's  why  they  made 
him  an  archbishop.  He  said  I  should  simply  be  cutting 
my  own  throat,  and  be  putting  myself  in  an  equivocal 
situation  for  nothing.  No  one  will  receive  you,  he  said, 
even  if  you're  in  the  right.  If  they  have  you  at  their 
houses  it  will  only  be  as  a  kind  of  show,  so  that  the  men 
may  talk  about  you  in  the  smoking-room,  and  that  the 
women  may  watch  you  when  you're  present  and  tattle 
about  you  when  your  back  is  turned.  I  must  say  I 
never  realized  before  what  it  was  to  have  clergy  in  the 
family.  I'm  sure  we  do  them  a  great  injustice — the 

333 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

clergy.  They  look  as  if  they  couldn't  say  boo  to  a 
goose,  and  yet  when  it  comes  to  a  question  of  divorce — " 

"You  find  they  can,"  Lady  de  Bohun  interposed, 
maliciously. 

"Precisely,"  agreed  the  Duchess.  "That's  what  I 
did  find.  Jack  held  me  back  with  both  hands,  and 
gave  me  the  most  convincing  of  illustrations.  '  Look 
at  Mrs.  Vyner/  he  said,  'and  Lady  Susan  Polehamp- 
ton,  and  Lady  Staines,  and  ever  so  many  others — per 
fectly  innocent  women,  all  of  them — and  yet  to-day 
they  are  driven  to  do  church-work  in  order  to  keep  any 
kind  of  respectable  position  in  the  world.  The  most 
charitable  consider  their  situation  as  equivocal/  Jack 
says,  and  he  must  know.  So  I  bore  my  sorrows — " 

"And  the  Duke  bore  his,"  said  Bertie,  with  a  sig 
nificant  glance  around. 

"But,  oh,  dear,"  sighed  the  Duchess,  mournfully, 
"broken  vowsl  We  know  all  about  them,  don't  we, 
Agneta?" 

"You  seem  to,  Duchess,"  Lady  Yorkshire  replied, 
with  unnecessary  tartness. 

"I  do,  indeed,"  the  Duchess  admitted.  "I  suppose 
we  all  do — unless  it's  you,  Major  Bertie.  You  never 
took  any." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Amos. 

"  No,  I  forgot  you,  Taddles.  You  did  without  them, 
didn't  he,  Agneta?  So,  I  suppose,  that's  why  he  didn't 
come  over  with  you,"  she  continued,  turning  once  more 
towards  Petrina.  "It  wouldn't  do  now,  would  it?  You 
can  go  far  with  a  man  if  you're  not  married  to  him  at 
all;  but  once  you're  divorced  it's  hopeless.  And  you 
won't  come  to  town,  either.  Oh  no,  my  dear,"  she 
went  on,  in  answer  to  a  protesting  expression  in  Pe- 
trina's  eyes.  "You  couldn't.  You'd  find  your  situa 
tion  too  equivocal.  You  wouldn't  be  comfortable. 

334 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

People  would  be  afraid  of  having  you.  Better  do  like 
her"  (she  nodded  in  the  direction  of  Lady  de  Bohun), 
"and  stay  where  people  can't  say  the  nasty  things 
about  you  that  they'll  want  to  say.  As  to  her,  when 
she  divorced  Humphrey  her  character  went  like  tissue- 
paper  in  a  blaze;  there  wasn't  even  ashes  left  behind. 
That's  why  she  has  kept  down  here  in  the  country. 
By -the -way,  dear,"  the  Duchess  continued,  looking 
over  at  Lady  de  Bohun,  "  did  I  tell  you  that  I  dined  at 
your  sister-in-law's  the  other  night?" 

"At  my—  ?" 

"  Sister-in-law's,  I  said,  though  I  am  not  sufficiently 
well  up  in  your  American  terms  to  know  if  that's  the 
exact  relationship.  I  mean  Humphrey's  other  wife. 
She's  a  dear,  isn't  she?  Such  pretty  eyes,  and  a  com 
plexion — well,  you'd  swear  it  was  made  up.  But  that 
you  can't  tell.  They  say  the  same  thing  about  Ag- 
neta's;  and  yet  every  one  knows  that  it's  as  natural 
as  grass.  Well,  Gerald,  I  suppose  you're  waiting  for 
me  to  give  the  sign  to  go.  I  see  you're  impatient  to  get 
back  to  Keston." 

"I  fancy  Lady  de  Bohun  won't  be  sorry  to  see  the 
last  of  us." 

"On  the  contrary,  Gerald,  I've  been  extremely  di 
verted;  and  I'm  sure  Petrina  has,  too." 

"Thanks  to  the  Duchess,"  Petrina  assented,  as  they 
all  rose. 

"And  don't  forget  Lady  Yorkshire  and  Taddles," 
said  her  grace,  trying  to  catch  the  floating  end  of  her 
boa.  "They  are  always  as  interesting  as  a  French 
comedy.  That's  why  I  go  about  with  them.  Well, 
good-bye,  dears,"  she  went  on,  holding  out  one  hand 
to  Emilia  and  the  other  to  Petrina.  "  When  I  see  you 
as  you  are — in  your  equivocal  situations — I  am  thank 
ful  to  have  taken  Jack's  advice.  Good-bye;  good-bye. 

335 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

I  am  so  happy  to  have  seen  you  both.  Dear  knows 
when  we  shall  ever  meet  again.  My  brother  being  an 
archbishop,  you  know,  obliges  me  to  be  most  careful." 
Lechmere  saw  the  party  to  their  landau,  and  when 
the  sound  of  wheels  had  died  away  Petrina  and  Emilia 
stood  looking  at  each  other  in  amazement.  Then  they 
burst  into  a  ringing  peal  of  laughter.  But  in  their 
laughter  there  was  something  nervous,  hysterical,  and 
very  near  to  tears, 


CHAPTER  VI 

PETRINA  did  go  to  town  that  season,  in  spite  of  the 
Duchess's  advice.  There  were  reasons  which  seemed 
to  make  it  the  only  thing  to  do.  First,  her  visit  to 
Orpington  Park  was  not  altogether  a  happy  one.  It 
was  clear  that  Emmy  was  tending  in  one  direction,  and 
she  herself  in  another.  As  Petrina  expressed  it,  Emmy 
was  showing  that,  after  all,  she  was  a  Vassall ;  she  was 
reverting  to  early  beliefs  and  practices,  and  beginning 
to  be  "narrow."  She  went  every  day  to  see  Hippolyta 
in  her  convent  at  Bishop's  Orpington,  and  came  home 
with  what  Petrina  thought  a  ridiculous  admiration  for 
the  religious  life.  She  fell  into  a  habit  of  speaking  of 
her  former  ideas  as  "  wrong  " ;  implying  that  Petrina, 
who  held  those  ideas  still,  remained  in  error.  Between 
them  there  was  no  falling  off  in  affection ;  but  there  was 
that  failure  of  sympathy  which  comes  between  friends 
when  one  and  not  the  other  has  changed  his  point  of 
view. 

Then  Petrina  went  to  town,  because  she  would  not 
allow  the  Duchess  of  Ambleside's  opinion  to  pass  un 
challenged.  She  took  her  grace's  words  as  expressive 
of  the  social  attitude  she  must  expect  to  face;  but  she 
would  not  be  frightened  by  it  beforehand.  "I  am  a 
perfectly  innocent  woman,"  she  insisted.  "No  one 
has  a  right  to  cast  suspicion  on  my  name." 

And,  as  far  as  she  ever  knew,  none  was  cast.  She 
experienced  no  discourtesy  in  London;  she  met  with 
no  rebuff;  she  was  only  let  alone.  Her  English  ac- 

337 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

quaintances  learned  of  her  divorce,  and  showed  no 
surprise.  They  said  it  was  "American,"  and  let  it 
pass;  but  they  ceased  to  show  their  former  friendship 
for  Petrina.  Some,  who  had  admired  her  as  a  girl,  ac 
knowledged  that  they  had  always  thought  her  queer; 
others  who  had  liked  her  owned  that  they  were  dis 
appointed.  The  majority  considered  her  "  mysterious  "  ; 
her  manner  of  appearing  and  disappearing,  they  said, 
was  strange;  she  turned  up  from  nobody  knew  where, 
now  with  a  husband,  and  now  with  none ;  it  was  there 
fore  wiser  to  be  on  the  negative  safe-side  in  the  way  of 
intimacy.  They  greeted  her  kindly  when  they  met  by 
accident;  but  it  was  only  by  accident  that  they  met. 

The  perception  of  this  came  to  Petrina  quickly.  When 
Sir  Humphrey  and  Gentian  invited  her  from  Saturday 
to  Monday  to  their  little  place  in  Herts  she  found  herself 
the  only  guest.  When  she  dined  with  them  in  town 
no  one  was  asked  to  meet  her  but  Gentian's  father. 
Petrina  understood  at  once.  She  was  being  kept  out 
of  sight  of  Gentian's  friends.  She  could  almost  hear 
Gentian  saying  that  her  own  footing  was  too  insecure 
to  allow  of  her  giving  public  recognition  to  any  one 
whose  position  could  be  questioned.  Princess  Hans  of 
Markenstein  was  effusively  cordial;  but  when  Petrina 
lunched  at  Markenstein  House  she  noticed  that  her 
fellow-guests  had  been  carefully  chosen  among  those 
who  live  in  glass  houses,  and  therefore  could  not  be 
particular  or  throw  stones.  These  were  Petrina's  social 
attentions.  They  were  given  from  necessity,  as  if  to  a 
poor  relation,  and  were  kept  for  intimate  occasions. 
Neither  Gentian  nor  Princess  Hans  failed  in  protesta 
tions  of  friendship;  but  their  hospitality  was  never 
repeated. 

From  the  rest  of  the  world  there  came  nothing. 
Petrina  knew  that  she  was  not  even  talked  about.  She 

338 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

was  gently  ignored.  The  Duchess  of  Ambleside  shook 
hands  with  her  one  day  in  Bond  Street,  and  was  sym 
pathetic;  but  she  did  not  send  a  card  for  her  garden 
party  at  Ambleside  House.  Lady  Yorkshire  nodded 
to  her  once  or  twice,  but  went  no  further.  Even  Sir 
George  Wallingford  was  politely  circumspect,  as  though 
he  was  afraid  of  being  compromised. 

And  so,  as  June  wore  on,  Petrina  knew  that  in  London, 
as  in  Boston,  she  had  lost  the  air  of  importance  she  had 
hitherto  carried  with  her.  There  was  no  movement 
against  her.  There  was  no  attempt  to  treat  her  as  one 
who  has  shocked  the  proprieties.  There  was  only  a 
silent  refusal  to  consider  her  as  of  that  inner  social 
group  to  which  she  had  once  belonged.  She  was  not 
made  the  object  of  gossip;  she  was  simply  left  out. 

"They  look  upon  me  as  second-rate,"  she  said  to 
herself  one  day,  when  the  realization  came  upon  her. 
"I!  I!  Petrina  Faneuil!  Second-rate!"  She  tingled 
with  shame.  No  moral  accusation  could  have  brought 
her  down  with  such  humiliation. 

But  she  had  used  the  word  of  herself ;  no  one  else  had 
ever  applied  it  to  her.  It  had  come  into  her  own  mind  as 
descriptive  of  her  own  condition.  There  was  self- judg 
ment  in  the  very  fact.  That  was  her  next  thought, 
and  it  terrified  her. 

"  Can  it  be  true?"  she  went  on,  in  frightened  self- 
examination.  "Is  it  possible  that  I  am  deteriorating? 
Do  others  see  in  me  a  debasement  of  tone  to  which  I  am 
insensible?" 

She  questioned  herself  relentlessly,  but  could  find  no 
reply,  save  in  the  blandly  indifferent  attitude  of  all  the 
world  towards  her.  It  was  indifference  so  courteous 
that  she  could  not  even  complain  of  it.  It  was  the  in 
difference  which  sees  and  yet  overlooks,  and  which  is 
therefore  not  unintentional. 

339 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Petrina  carried  herself  quietly,  and  remained  at  the 
Carlton  House  Hotel.  She  affected  to  perceive  no 
change  in  the  bearing  of  her  acquaintances  towards  her ; 
but  she  went  no  more  among  them.  If  she  did  not  leave 
London,  it  was  because  she  did  not  know  where  to  go. 
She  thought  of  the  country,  but  it  repelled  her ;  of  the 
Continent,  but  it  appalled  her;  of  Faneuil  Hill,  but  her 
whole  spirit  cried  out,  "Not  there!"  "Where  then?" 
she  asked ;  but  though  the  world  was  all  before  her  where 
to  choose,  it  offered  her  no  spot  which  she  could  call  a 
refuge.  So  she  stayed  on  at  the  Carlton  House  Hotel, 
watching  that  life  of  London  from  which  she  had  been 
edged  out,  and  wondering,  as  she  had  so  often  wondered 
before,  why,  of  all  women  in  the  world,  this  fate  should 
have  overtaken  her. 

Just  then  Lechmere  came  to  town.  From  his  re 
treat  at  Oldbarns  he  had  followed  Petrina's  course  in 
London.  Her  experience  had  been  what  he  had  ex 
pected;  he  could  have  predicted  it;  he  had  been  over 
this  road  before.  Skilfully  and  unobtrusively  he  set 
himself  to  bring  balm  for  her  wounded  pride  and  tonic 
for  her  hard-hit  self-respect.  He  did  not  try  to  fight 
her  battles;  he  attempted  only  to  console  her  in  defeat. 
He  showed  her  that  she  was  but  one  against  the  world  ; 
that,  though  she  had  thrown  the  challenge,  the  con 
test  was  unequal,  and  that  she  must  go  down.  At  the 
same  time  he  made  it  plain  that  his  strength  was  at 
her  service. 

Petrina  was  touched.  In  the  weeks  that  followed  he 
softened  what  was  hard,  and  cheered  what  was  lonely, 
and  sweetened  what  was  bitter  in  her  lot.  He  sur 
rounded  her  with  so  much  kindness  that  she  almost 
ceased  to  feel  that  the  world  outside  was  cruel.  He 
stood  between  her  and  whatever  could  hurt  her,  and 
did  it  so  unostentatiously  that  she  could  not  take  alarm. 

340 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

She  no  longer  felt  the  impulse  to  escape  from  him,  as 
she  had  at  Rome  and  afterwards  at  Vienna.  She  knew 
he  did  not  love  her,  but  she  could  not  turn  away  from 
the  help  he  brought  her.  Her  life  had  become  too 
bleak. 

Thus  the  intimacy  begun  at  Tivoli  and  developed  in 
Rome  ripened  in  London.  Petrina  allowed  Lechmere 
to  see  much  of  her.  When  her  conscience  asked  her  if 
this  was  wise,  she  had  only  to  reply  that  there  was 
no  one  beyond  themselves  to  consider.  The  prudence 
she  had  tried  at  first  to  maintain  had  profited  her  noth 
ing;  she  would,  therefore,  be  less  strict  in  its  observ 
ance.  She  would  not  be  indiscreet,  but  she  would  be 
independent.  She  would  ignore  the  opinions  of  those 
who  had  ignored  her  rights.  She  would  dispense  with 
a  society  which  had  hinted  that  it  could  dispense  with 
her.  She  would  not  take  life  tragically,  in  spite  of  all 
she  had  to  suffer ;  rather  she  would  look  about  her 
and  see  what  was  left  to  enjoy. 

"Are  you  going  to  spend  another  dull  Sunday  in 
town?"  Lechmere  asked,  late  one  Saturday  night. 
"Why  not  do  something?" 

"I  can't  very  well  go  punting  all  alone  on  the  river/' 
Petrina  laughed,  "or  even  spend  the  day  at  Hampton 
Court." 

"I  have  an  idea." 

" That's  good.     Be  sure  you  keep  it." 

"Why  shouldn't  we  go  off  for  the  day  together?" 

"For  a  number  of  reasons  unnecessary  to  give  in 
detail.  But  if  it  isn't  very  far — " 

"Which  it  isn't." 

"  And  doesn't  involve  going  in  a  boat — " 

"Which it  doesn't." 

"Then  I'm  willing  to  think  it  over." 

"  And  if  your  decision  is  affirmative,  be  ready  for  me 

341 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

when  I  come  to  take  you  to  the  ten-thirty  train  from 
Waterloo." 

"I'm  sure  it's  Hampton  Court.     I  won't  go." 
"It  isn't  near  Hampton  Court,  and  you  must  go." 
Petrina  did  go.     The  invitation  caught  her  in  a  reck 
less  moment.     She  remembered  their  day  at  Tivoli  and 
their  drives  about  Rome.     She  would  throw  propriety 
to  the  winds,  and  have  one  good  day  in  England.    Lon 
don  was  hateful  to  her ;  its  Sundays  drove  her  to  de 
spair.     She  would  go  at  all  costs. 

When  Lechmere  came  in  the  morning  she  was  wait 
ing. 


CHAPTER  VII 

"STOP  at  Queen  Adelaide's  Tree,"  said  Lechmere 
to  the  coachman,  as  they  turned  from  the  dusty  high 
way  into  Windsor  Forest. 

"What  a  magic  wood!     How  beautiful  it  isl" 

Petrina  drew  a  deep  breath  of  pleasure.  As  they 
drove  beneath  the  shade  of  the  huge  secular  oaks,  it 
was  as  if  they  had  gone  into  another  world.  The  spell 
of  the  forest  fell  instantly  upon  them.  Life  grew  more 
elemental.  Boston,  London,  Rome — even  Ascot,  where 
they  had  lunched — suddenly  became  unreal,  as  the 
world  must  become  to  the  soul  that  has  just  passed 
beyond  it.  On  they  went  under  the  oaks  and  amid 
the  breast-high  bracken,  as  through  an  enchanted 
land  where  the  very  dreams  of  poetry  might  come  true. 
It  was  early  afternoon.  The  air  was  still.  There  was 
no  sound  but  that  of  the  occasional  flitting  of  a  bird 
from  tree  to  tree.  Here  and  there  rays  of  light  strug 
gled  through  the  overarching  boughs,  and  played  amid 
the  giant  trunks  like  wood-nymphs  clad  in  sunbeams. 
In  the  deep,  successive  glades  there  was  a  sense  of  mys 
tery — the  mystery  of  ages  and  of  calm — the  mystery  in 
which  there  is  no  passion,  but  only  a  patient,  timeless 
waiting  upon  God.  Petrina  was  conscious  of  some 
thing  soothing  in  the  spot,  of  something  consoling  and 
caressing,  as  if  Nature  were  holding  out  hands  to  her 
spirit  and  folding  it  in  peace. 

"How  beautiful!"  she  murmured  again,  as  they 
went  deeper  into  the  hoary  wood. 

343 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Suddenly  the  carriage  stopped. 

"Look,"  said  Lechmere,  as  he  pointed  to  the  north. 

Petrina  uttered  a  light  cry. 

Through  a  great  oval  opening  in  the  forest,  and  across 
miles  of  undulating  park-land,  Windsor  Castle  detached 
itself  softly  from  the  sun-shot  summer  haze.  At  this 
distance  it  seemed  to  emerge  from  cloud  and  to  rest  on 
cloud.  Golden  mists  blotted  out  the  little  town  nestling 
around  the  ramparts,  and  flung  a  translucent  veil  over 
the  valley  of  the  Thames.  The  towered  and  battle- 
mented  pile — palace,  fortress,  and  church — was  less 
like  an  earthly  building  than  a  city  which  had  come 
down  out  of  heaven  from  God. 

"I  never  knew  there  was  anything  so  beautiful  in 
England,"  Petrina  said,  when  she  had  looked  long  at 
the  picture  in  its  oval  frame  of  green.  "It  is  like  a 
Turner." 

"  I  thought  it  would  please  you,"  Lechmere  responded. 
"I  have  often  wished  to  bring  you  here.  The  Prince 
Consort  cut  the  vista,  I  believe.  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
get  out?  There  is  a  seat  here." 

They  descended  from  the  carriage  and  sat  down  on 
the  rustic  bench  at  the  foot  of  Queen  Adelaide's  Tree. 
The  coachman  drove  on  to  rest  his  horses  in  a  spot  of 
deeper  shade.  They  were  quite  alone. 

"This  peace  is  wonderful,"  Petrina  remarked,  when 
they  had  been  silent  a  long  time.  "There  is  some 
thing  healing  in  it." 

"And  something  that  rebukes  our  stress  and  worry 
and  anxiety.  Don't  you  think  so?  I  am  fond  of  this 
forest.  It  keeps  the  traditions  of  the  ancient  wood.  It 
isn't  a  trim  palace-park  like  the  forest  of  St.  Germain, 
nor  a  bigger  Bois  de  Boulogne  like  that  of  Fontaine- 
bleau.  This  is  a  spot  where  primitive  creatures  not 
quite  human  might  still  lurk,  watching  modern  time 

344 


Let  Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

go  by.  Dryads  might  be  flitting  behind  those  great 
trunks,  or  a  procession  of  Druids  might  be  passing  on 
to  offer  a  victim  at  a  sacred  tree." 

"Or  a  train  of  Arthur's  knights  might  ride  down 
through  the  bracken  on  their  way  to  Camelot ;  or  Gala 
had  looking  in  every  stray  sunbeam  for  a  glimpse  of 
the  Holy  Grail;  or  Lancelot  and  Guinevere,  making 
the  most  of  an  hour  together." 

"We  came  here  often/'  said  Lechmere,  in  a  quiet 
tone,  "when  we  lived  near  Windsor.  Felicia  liked  this 
spot.  She  used  to  say  that  to  be  here  was  like  living 
in  an  old  engraving." 

Petrina  felt  her  heart  give  a  great  bound.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  spoken  of  his  wife.  She  knew 
now  that  he  wished  to  do  so,  and  replied  with  simple 
directness  like  his  own. 

"Then  the  place  has  associations  for  you?  I  won 
der  that  you  care  to  come  back  to  it  with  anybody  else." 

"I  shouldn't  do  so  with  any  one  but  vou." 

"Where  did  you  live?" 

"Over  there  beyond  St.  Leonard's  Hill." 

"  You  liked  the  neighborhood?" 

"The  setting  suited  the  jewel.  I  can't  say  more  than 
that." 

"No;  because  when  you  say  that  you  say  all." 

"I  see  you  understand.  Of  course  I  knew  you  did. 
Most  people  think  I  have  been  a  fool." 

"I  never  should." 

"T  know  that,  too.  We  were  made  to  console  each 
other." 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  need  consolation,"  Petrina  said, 
more  coldly. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do.  I  know  you  better  than  you  think. 
Ever  since  we  first  met  at  Faneuil  Hill,  before  you  were 
married,  I  felt  that  we  jtfere  not  going  to  be  mere  ordi- 

345 

V 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

nary  friends.  I  didn't  understand  it  just  then.  I  never 
understood  it  till  the  afternoon  when  I  saw  you  in  the 
church  in  Vienna.  It  came  to  me  then  in  a  flash.  I 
knew  it  was  some  thought  of  me  that  had  brought  you 
there.  I  knew,  too,  that  the  thought  was  something 
more  than  sympathy.  I  told  you  I  had  gone  through 
something  in  that  church.  It  was  only  this.  In  Vienna 
I  last  saw  Felicia.  She  rejected  me.  There  was  no 
further  hope.  When  I  left  her  I  meant  not  to  go  on 
living.  There's  a  dark  streak  in  my  nature;  and  at 
the  best  of  times  death  has  seemed  to  beckon  to  me.  I 
don't  know  why  I  didn't  do  it  at  once;  but  I  didn't.  I 
was  rather  dazed.  I  wandered  aimlessly  about  the 
streets  of  Vienna,  as  one  does  at  such  a  time.  Then  I 
found  myself  in  the  church.  I  wasn't  exactly  suffering. 
I  was  too  far  gone  for  that.  I  was  benumbed.  I  sat 
there  dully  and  indifferently,  vaguely  choosing  among 
the  great  narcotics.  By-and-by  there  was  a  service; 
I  don't  know  what.  There  were  lights  about  the 
altar,  and  there  was  singing.  Then  something  hap 
pened,  though  I  can't  tell  you  what  it  was.  An  an 
gel  spoke  to  me,  perhaps,  or  perhaps  God  himself, 
seeing  how  great  my  grief  was,  may  have  come  to 
me.  In  any  case  I  was  suddenly  comforted.  I  was 
made  to  understand  that  the  end  hadn't  come.  I 
could  never  explain  to  you  what  it  was.  It  was  as 
if  I  had  been  bidden  to  wait.  I  did  wait.  I  went  to 
the  East,  as  you  know.  When  I  came  back  I  met 
you.  I  was  puzzled  at  first.  I  didn't  see  what 
was  to  happen — not  until  I  was  led,  as  the  Wise 
Men  were  led  by  the  Star,  to  where  you  were  sit 
ting  in  the  dimness  of  the  old  church.  Then  I 
knew." 

"You  knew  what?" 

"That  God  had  given  you  to  me." 

346 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"  I  am  not  to  be  disposed  of  by  a  God.  That  is  an 
expression  which  I  don't  understand." 

"No;  but  you  understand  the  fact." 

"What  fact?" 

"That  we  need  each  other." 

"  I  haven't  yet  reached  the  point  where  I  am  not  suf 
ficient  to  myself ;  and  you  will  never  have  any  ideal  but 
that  which  you  have  kept  so  long." 

"  Isn't  it  the  fact  that  we  have  lost  our  ideals  which 
draws  you  and  me  together?  We  are  two  desolate 
creatures  who  are  looking  less  for  love  than  for  support. 
We  don't  seek  happiness.  It  is  too  late  for  that.  All 
we  want  is  help  to  bear — what  each  of  us  has  to  carry." 

"I  never  said  so." 

"It  hasn't  required  words." 

"  You  ought  not  to  ascribe  to  me  a  need  which  I  haven't 
felt." 

"But  you  have  felt  it.  You  feel  it  now.  When  we 
part  this  evening  you  know  that  you  will  go  back  into 
a  life  whose  emptiness  appalls  you." 

"If  I  am  alone  it  is  because  I  prefer  solitude,"  she 
said,  with  a  flush. 

"Why  should  you  try  to  deceive  me?  You  are  an 
enigma  to  other  people,  but  not  quite  to  me.  It  is  long 
since  I  began  to  see  beneath  your  mask." 

"  I  have  never  worn  one." 

"Not  consciously;  and  yet  you  have  always  been  a 
mystery.  I  was  certain  before  your  marriage  that 
Vassall  would  never  understand  you." 

"  And  you  think  you  do?" 

"Only  after  patient  study,  as  one  learns  to  read  a 
foreign  language." 

"But  it  remains  foreign." 

"I  admit  that.  One  never  quite  masters  the  idiom. 
Between  you  and  me  there  will  always  remain  some- 

347 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

thing  which  neither  can  comprehend.  We  could  re 
spect  that  in  each  other.  If  you  became  my  wife  I 
should  never  expect  to  be  for  you  what  Vassall,  had 
he  known  how,  might  have  become." 

"You  understand,  then,  that  under  happier  circum 
stances  he  could  have  had  my  highest  love?" 

"And  has  it.  I  make  no  mistake  on  that  point. 
There  are  reaches  in  your  own  heart  which  you  have 
never  explored — reaches  which,  I  imagine,  you  will  never 
explore  in  this  life.  You  may  enter  them  in  another, 
and,  if  so,  you  will  find  no  one  but  Harry  Vassall  there." 

"And  in  your  life?" 

"There  is  the  same." 

"Then  would  not  a  marriage  between  us  be  a  dan 
gerous  experiment?" 

"  If  we  were  younger,  yes ;  or  if  we  had  been  less  tried  ; 
or  if  we  didn't  know  exactly  what  we  were  seeking ;  or 
if  we  couldn't  both  look  at  marriage  from  the  reasonable 
latter-day  point  of  view.  In  any  of  these  cases  the 
experiment  might  be  rash.  But  with  you  and  me  there 
is  little  to  be  feared." 

"  You  take  my  desire  for  granted.     I  resent  that." 

"  I  take  for  granted  nothing  but  what  I  know.  How 
well  I  know  it  I  could  explain  if  you  would  let  me  take 
the  liberty." 

Petrina  gazed  absently  at  the  cloud-wrapped  castle 
in  the  distance,  and  said  nothing.  Lechmere  took  her 
silence  as  permission  to  go  on. 

"  When  I  heard  that  you  were  going  to  marry  Vassall 
I  couldn't  understand  it  at  first.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
you  two  were  not  fitted  for  each  other.  Much  as  I  liked 
him  as  a  friend,  I  failed  to  see  why  you  should  care  for 
him  as  a  husband.  Oh,  I  discovered  that  later,"  he 
added,  quickly,  as  Petrina  turned  upon  him  rather 
haughtily.  "  To  you  he  represented  an  ideal ;  and  you 

348 


were  right.  He  is  an  ideal  —  the  ideal  of  whatever  is 
simple,  high-minded,  and  strong.  When  I  knew  him 
first  there  were  in  him  all  the  elements  of  a  Sir  Philip 
Sidney.  That  is  what  drew  me  to  him,  and  what  you 
saw.  But,  unfortunately  for  us  all,  he  has  penned  a 
great  nature  up  within  the  limits  imposed  by  family 
traditions  and  local  self-sufficiency.  He  has  bound  up 
his  mind,  as  a  China-woman  binds  her  foot,  so  that 
it  might  never  outgrow  what  he  learned  as  a  boy  at 
Harvard,  or  have  anything  more  than  a  vague  percep 
tion  of  a  world  outside  of  Massachusetts.  To  the  best 
New  England  qualities  he  has  added  the  most  unbear 
able  of  New  England  faults — the  tendency  to  be  in 
trospective  and  .  yet  self  -  satisfied,  consciously  moral 
and  yet  ice-bound  in  mental  pride.  With  everything 
right  about  him  in  disposition  and  principles,  he  has 
cramped  himself  up  in  that  narrowest  of  all  worlds — 
the  world  in  which  there  is  every  virtue  but  charity. 
Vassall  was  meant  for  a  large  life,  but  he  has  so  trained 
himself  to  tread  a  daily  dogged  round  that  now  he 
thinks  nothing  worth  doing  but  that  which  he  does,  and 
no  one  worth  knowing  but  those  whom  he  knows,  and 
nothing  worth  caring  for  or  believing  in  but  that  which 
appeals  to  him.  He  should  have  been  a  Chevalier 
Bayard  and  he  has  made  himself  a  Tom  Tulliver." 

Petrina  sat  silent  and  motionless,  the  red  slowly 
deepening  in  her  cheek. 

"And  into  a  life  like  his,"  Lechmere  pursued,  "you 
brought  your  own — eager,  inquisitive,  daring,  nervous 
ly  independent,  sensitively  impatient  of  control,  mock 
ing  at  tradition,  and  irreverent  towards  the  teachings 
of  the  past.  It  would  be  difficult  to  temper  the  shock 
of  two  such  natures  meeting.  You  must  have  suffered 
terribly — both  of  you.  Your  love  must  have  staggered 
before  his  hardness ;  and  his  before,  what  he  would  think, 

349 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

your  heartlessness.  Yes,  you  must  have  suffered 
cruelly.  You  were  thwarted,  disappointed,  and  humil 
iated.  When  you  parted  from  him  openly  it  was,  for  a 
proud  woman  like  you,  as  if  you  had  dragged  out  your 
own  soul  for  every  one  to  see  its  secrets.  Now  that  you 
are  quite  free,  your  spirit  feels  as  if  it  had  been  beaten, 
robbed,  and  left  to  die  by  the  roadside,  while  priests,  and 
Levites,  and  former  friends  go  hastily  by.  Oh,  I  know 
what  you  feel — I  know  your  loneliness — your  wretched 
ness — your  desolation.  I  could  see  it  when  we  met  at 
Tivoli.  I  could  see  it  in  Rome.  I  could  see  it  in  3~our 
objectless  wandering  to  Vienna.  I  can  see  it,  above  all, 
here  in  England,  where  you  are  surrounded  by  those 
who  should  stand  by  you,  and  yet  no  one  does.  I  know 
what  indignation  you  keep  down  under  your  coldly 
amiable  manner.  I  know  what  scalding  tears  you 
could  shed  if  you  were  to  let  yourself  cry.  You  are  the 
last  woman  in  the  world  to  bear  the  fate  that  has  over 
taken  you.  You  were  meant  to  shine  in  the  palace, 
and  not  to  shiver  at  the  gate.  Life  has  been  hard  to 
you.  It  has  poured  out  for  you  the  best  of  its  wine  and 
then  mingled  it  with  wormwood ;  it  has  given  you  beauty, 
youth,  and  health,  and  then  thrust  you  into  a  place  where 
all  are  useless.  But  I  could  help  you.  I  could  bring 
you  strength,  companionship,  and  protection,  even  if  I 
could  do  no  more.  You  are  so  deserted,  so  exposed! 
At  the  very  least  I  could  stand  like  a  breakwater  be 
tween  you  and  life,  and  let  its  waves  spend  their  worst 
force  on  me." 

"And  what  could  I  bring  you?" 

Petrina  spoke  in  a  trembling  whisper.  Great  tears, 
which  she  made  no  attempt  to  hide,  rolled  slowly  down. 

"  You  could  give  me  what  the  isle  in  the  ocean  offers 
the  shipwrecked  man — life.  You  and  I  wouldn't  ask 
for  much.  We  should  be  humble  in  our  demands.  We 

350 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

have  seen  the  futility  of  expecting  great  things.  When 
rich  men  come  to  want  they  are  glad  to  find  a  shelter  from 
the  storm.  When  exiles  meet  they  give  a  refuge  to  each 
other.  You  and  I  are  poor  and  in  exile.  We  have  met 
as  in  a  desolate  land  and  have  been  drawn  together  by 
sorrow.  If  I  don't  say  love,  it  is  only  because,  after 
all  that  you  have  felt  on  your  part  and  I  on  mine,  love 
is  a  word  which  we  hesitate  to  use.  But  there  is  some 
strong  tie  between  us.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I. 
Exactly  what  it  is  we  need  not  try  to  analyze  or  define. 
It  is  there,  and  that  is  enough.  In  your  presence  I 
am  a  broken  man  made  whole  again;  in  mine,  I  hope, 
you  feel  yourself  a  little  comforted.  Oh,  Petrina,  why 
should  we  hesitate?  If  we  turn  away  from  each  other, 
where  can  we  go  but  back  into  the  cold  and  void?  We 
have  both  tried  that,  and  we  know  that  we  can't  go  on 
in  it.  What  then?  Which  way  are  we  to  turn?  What 
is  to  become  of  us?  In  a  few  days  now  you  will  be 
leaving  London.  But  where  are  you  to  go?  What  are 
you  to  do?  How  are  you  to  spend  your  life  otherwise 
than  in  a  pointless  wandering?  There  is  only  one 
answer  to  your  questions.  It  is  the  answer  which  I 
find  to  mine.  There  is  only  one  refuge  for  us — but  in  it 
we  must  be  together.  There  we  could  be  in  quiet  if  we 
liked,  looking  out  on  life  as  we  look  out  on  the  castle 
over  there,  while  we  ourselves  are  embowered  in  se 
clusion.  There  we  could  heal  our  wounds,  and  dry  our 
tears,  and  seek  peace  and  insure  it.  There  is  such  a 
refuge,  Petrina.  There  is  a  life  awaiting  us  in  which 
we  could  seek  just  the  balm  for  tired  hearts  which  one 
seems  to  breathe  in  this  old  wood.  Will  you  come  with 
me  and  find  it?" 

Something  prompted  her  to  say  no,  but  she  would  not 
yield  to  the  suggestion. 

"Would  it  be  far?"  she  asked. 

351 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"Not  far." 

"Should  I  be  strong  enough?" 

"Quite  strong  enough." 

"I  have  grown  afraid  of  men/'  she  murmured. 
"  Would  you  be  kind  to  me?" 

He  laid  his  hand  on  hers,  and  the  touch  thrilled  her 
with  memories  of  Rome. 

"Very  kind,"  he  whispered. 

"Then  I  will  try,"  she  said,  but  as  she  spoke  she 
seemed  to  know  that  she  had  done  wrong. 


part  ID 


CHAPTER  I 

PETRINA  and  Lechmere  were  married  in  August, 
and  went  directly  to  Oldbarns.  It  was  a  relief  to  them 
to  find  that  Emilia  de  Bohun  was  at  Homburg,  and 
Gerald  Bertie  in  the  North.  There  were  thus  no  wit 
nesses  to  the  beginning  of  the  new  experiment. 

Oldbarns  was  a  pretty  place,  and,  though  called  a 
cottage,  was  large  enough  for  dignified  living.  Lech- 
mere  had  taken  it  for  a  year;  and  Petrina's  first  pleasure 
was  in  the  feeling  that  she  had  a  home.  Her  own  house 
in  Boston  was  not  a  home  to  her  now.  Some  day,  she 
said,  she  might  return  to  it,  but  if  so  it  could  only  be 
years  hence,  when  she  should  be  sufficiently  forgotten 
to  be  able  to  begin  again. 

For  the  moment  she  was  satisfied  in  having  found  a 
resting-place.  Her  plans  for  the  past  had  failed  to 
such  a  degree  that  at  present  her  mind  did  not  go  beyond 
the  temporary.  After  all  that  the  last  few  years  had 
brought  her  of  humiliation  and  grief,  she  was  glad  to 
be  soothed  in  country  peace.  At  Oldbarns  there  were 
no  half-estranged  friends  to  face  and  no  complicated 
problems  to  solve.  She  was  no  longer  lonely;  she  was 
no  longer  a  waif.  She  had  once  more  a  husband,  a 
household,  and  duties.  She  had  therefore  anchors  by 
which  to  hold,  and  her  drifting  for  the  time  was  ended. 

She  was  pleased,  moreover,  to  be  called  Mrs.  Lech- 
mere.  Any  title  was  a  welcome  relief  from  the  one  she 
had  borne.  Since  her  divorce  she  had  hated  to  be  known 
as  Mrs.  Vassall.  She  had  felt  that  she  had  no  right  to 

355 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

the  name,  and  yet  could  not  easily  give  it  up.  Under 
present  conditions,  she  was  at  least  out  of  an  anoma 
lous  position.  She  could  call  herself  some  one;  she 
had  a  definite  social  place.  She  smiled  to  think  of  the 
large  claims  she  had  once  put  forth  for  herself.  Noth 
ing  but  the  best  had  been  good  enough;  nothing  but 
the  highest  high  enough.  Now  she  was  grateful  to 
Lechmere  for  making  her  his  wife  and  for  giving  her 
shelter  at  his  fireside. 

He  himself  was  courteous  and  considerate,  but  Pe- 
trina  was  surprised  to  find  that,  after  their  marriage, 
she  knew  him  little  better  than  before.  As  the  weeks 
went  by  she  began  to  perceive  that  she  did  not  know 
him  at  all.  He  watched  over  her  and  saw  that  she  had 
no  wish  which  was  not  gratified ;  but  in  his  own  thought 
he  remained  apart  from  her.  That  which  was  intimacy 
in  friendship  seemed  like  distance  in  marriage.  It  was 
soon  apparent  that  the  Lechmere  of  daily  life  was  a  silent 
man,  with  an  occasional  inspiration  to  talk ;  a  sad  man, 
with  a  frequent  caprice  for  society.  The  vein  of  mys 
ticism  in  his  character  repelled  Petrina;  his  tendency 
to  melancholy  brightened  her.  From  their  very  wed 
ding-day  he  seemed  changed — as  a  man  is  changed 
who  has  waked  from  the  dream  of  temptation  into  the 
reality  of  sin. 

So,  as  the  summer  went  on,  Petrina  began  to  per 
ceive  that  there  were  limits  to  such  consolation  as  she 
had  secured.  The  interest  Lechmere  had  shown  in  her 
almost  ceased.  He  was  never  unkind,  but  he  stood  off 
from  her  like  a  stranger.  The  difference  in  his  bearing 
was  so  marked  that  she  grew  uneasy.  She  wondered 
if  he  regretted  the  step  they  had  taken  together.  She 
wondered  if  she  regretted  it  herself.  Here,  however,  she 
checked  her  meditations.  She  dared  not  dwell  on  that 
thought.  For  it  was  curious  that  now,  when  she  had 

356 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

put  an  impassable  barrier  between  Harry  Vassall  and 
herself,  he  seemed  to  come  near  to  her  again ;  that  now, 
when  she  had  given  up  his  name,  and  as  far  as  possible 
erased  everything  that  had  existed  between  them,  he 
was  more  persistently  present  than  at  any  time  since 
their  separation.  Now  and  then,  as  she  sat  in  her 
garden,  whiling  away  a  golden  September  afternoon, 
her  book  fell  unread  into  her  lap,  while  she  found  her 
self  wondering  how  he  had  received  the  news  of  her 
marriage,  and  whether  it  had  caused  him  pain.  Im 
perceptibly  to  herself  she  began  to  think  of  him  with 
less  bitterness.  Now  that  she  was  another  man's  wife, 
she  felt  that  she  could  judge  him  more  impartially  than 
before.  Her  marriage  had  removed  her  so  far  from  her 
former  life  that  she  could  pass  on  it  the  same  sort  of 
sentence  which  a  new  generation  can  deliver  on  the 
achievements  of  the  last.  In  comparison  with  Lech- 
mere's  mysteriousness  and  reserve,  she  found  Vassall 
simple  and  sane.  There  were  days  when  Lechmere 
puzzled  her,  and  she  longed  for  Vassall's  guidance. 

And  yet,  with  strange  self-contradiction,  she  clung 
to  Lechmere's  presence.  When  he  left  her  to  pass  long 
days  alone,  she  was  restless  till  he  came  back  again. 
The  tie  between  them  was  so  slight  that  she  feared  its 
breaking.  She  was  married  to  him,  it  was  true,  but 
they  had  agreed  that  marriage  was  a  temporary  thing, 
and  she  lived  in  dread  of  his  telling  her  that  theirs  was 
at  an  end.  If  so  she  would  be  obliged  to  accept  his 
decision,  and  should  wander  forth  again,  like  Hagar 
at  the  word  of  Abraham. 

"I  wonder  if  his  thoughts  dwell  as  much  on  Felicia 
as  mine  do  on  Harry?"  she  asked  herself  one  day ;  and 
the  idea  startled  her  She  had  not  hitherto  considered 
Madame  de  Prony  as  other  than  a  dead  factor  in  Lech- 
mere's  life;  but  she  was  living,  and  the  knowledge  be- 

357 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

gan  to  create  in  Petrina's  mind  a  vague  disquietude. 
She  was  not  jealous ;  she  was  only  afraid  of  being  dis 
turbed  in  that  corner  of  life  where  her  wandering  feet 
had  found  rest.  Among  the  flowers  at  Oldbarns  and 
the  glades  of  Keston  Park  she  was  not  happy ;  for  that 
she  did  not  care ;  the  thing  essential  was  that  she  should 
be  kept  hidden  and  in  peace.  It  terrified  her  to  think 
that  she  might  lose  her  refuge  so  soon  after  having 
found  it. 

In  this  possibility  she  gradually  grew  afraid  of  him. 
Now  and  then  she  found  him  watching  her,  not  stealth 
ily,  but  with  that  gentle,  oblique  regard  which  gave  him 
more  than  ever  the  expression  of  a  Vandyke  Charles 
the  First.  They  fell  into  the  habit  of  mutual  watching, 
as  though  each  were  trying  to  read  what  the  other 
dared  not  put  into  words. 

It  was  late  in  the  autumn  when  Emilia  returned  to 
Orpington  Park  and  paid  her  first  visit  to  Petrina. 

"Well,  my  dear/'  Lady  de  Bohun  exclaimed,  bustling 
unannounced  one  morning  into  the  sitting-room  where 
Petrina  was  sewing.  "I  didn't  let  you  know  I  was 
coming,  because  I  was  afraid  Dick  might  stay  at  home." 

"He's  out  stalking  through  the  turnip-fields,  trying 
to  shoot  something,"  Petrina  explained,  when  they 
had  embraced  and  settled  down  before  the  fire. 

"  That's  good.  I  prayed  for  that  on  the  way  over.  I 
wanted  to  see  you  alone." 

Petrina  had  dreaded  this  meeting,  though  she  hardly 
knew  why.  As  she  looked  at  Emmy,  in  her  careless, 
old-fashioned  black  dress,  she  saw  a  clearer  likeness  to 
Mrs.  Vassall.  Something  in  the  way  of  speaking,  too, 
reminded  her  of  Harry. 

"She  will  say  I  have  been  disloyal  to  him."  she 
thought,  as  Lady  de  Bohun  held  out  her  cold  hands  to 
the  blaze.  But  it  was  again  her  own  self-judgment 

358 


Let   Not  Man   Put  Asunder 

which  had  found  L  -  word  which  on  other  lips  she  would 
have  resented. 

"Of  course  I  have  been  anxious  to  see  you,  Emmy 
dear,"  Petrina  said  aloud.  "So  much  has  happened 
since  we  last  met  which  hasn't  been  possible  to  explain 
by  writing." 

"I  don't  know  that  there  is  anything  to  explain," 
Lady  de  Bohun  replied,  slowly.  "Naturally  I  was 
surprised.  I  had  never  renounced  a  hope  that  you  and 
Harry  might  have  made  it  up." 

"It  takes  two  to  make  a  reconciliation  as  well  as  a 
quarrel,  Emmy  dear." 

"And  you  were  not  willing  to  be  one." 

Petrina  did  not  answer,  and  Emilia  continued. 

"As  far  as  my  observation  goes,"  she  remarked, 
thoughtfully,  looking  steadily  into  the  fire,  "men  and 
women  separate  for  the  most  inadequate  of  reasons.  I 
am  sure  mine  were  so  when  I  left  Humphrey.  If  I  were 
to  be  married  to  a  dozen  men  I  should  never  try  again 
to  get  rid  of  one  of  them.  I  should  let  them  die  natural 
deaths,  or  do  my  best  to  put  up  with  them.  If  I  had  a 
sermon  to  preach  on  the  subject  I  should  take  the 
text  from  that  very  sentence.  To  put  up  with  I  There's 
the  key-note  of  married  life.  I  wonder  how  that  verb 
originated,  and  if  there's  anything  about  it  in  the  Study 
of  Words?  But  it's  strikingly  eloquent.  It  ought  to 
be  engraved  in  every  wedding-ring  and  every  bit  of 
wedding  silver.  It  ought  to  be  embroidered  on  every 
husband's  phylacteries,  and  worn  as  a  frontlet  between 
every  married  woman's  eyes." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  would  be  becoming,"  said  Petrina, 
with  a  rather  wan  smile. 

"  That's  what  we  women  think  most  about  nowadays 
— those  of  us  who  have  any  power  to  pick  and  choose. 
We  go  to  the  altar  as  we  go  to  the  dressmaker's,  to  get 

359 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

something  that  sets  us  off  to  the  best  advantage.     If 
things  don't  fit  we  don't  wear  them;  voiltt  tout." 

"And  you  think  it  hard  on  the  men?" 

"It's  hard  on  us  all.  In  my  own  case  it  has  been 
harder  on  me  than  on  anybody  else.  Humphrey  is 
happy  enough,  as  far  as  I  can  see.  Gentian  makes 
him  a  good  wife;  a  better  one  than  I  did,  at  any  rate; 
and,  oh,  dear,  they're  going  to  have  a  baby!  You 
didn't  know  that,  did  you?  Well,  they  are.  It's  a 
dreadful  blow  to  me.  If  I  could  have  foreseen  that 
when  I  made  such  a  fuss,  and  got  Humphrey  to  go  into 
chambers,  three  years  ago,  I  should  have  thought  a 
second  time.  Just  think  of  it !  I  shall  be  the  creature's 
step-mother.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  asked  me  to 
stand  for  it  when  it's  christened.  They  make  it  a  point 
to  offer  me  the  best  of  everything,  as  though  I  were  a 
kind  of  queen-dowager.  But  it  seems  to  me  unnatural 
that  Humphrey  should  be  having  other  children  when 
I'm  still  alive." 

"  But  you  may  have  children  of  your  own,  Emmy,  if 
you  marry  Gerald  Bertie." 

"  That's  all  over.  I've  sent  him  back  that  ridiculous 
ring  I  used  to  wear  round  my  neck.  For  a  woman  to 
whom  the  Lord  gave  common-sense  I  have  made  as 
little  use  of  it  as  one  could  and  yet  pass  for  sane." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  marry." 

"Neither  do  I,  if  I  wanted  to;  but  I  don't.  As  long 
as  Humphrey  lives  I  can't  help  feeling  bound  to  him." 

"  Under  the  circumstances  that  seems  to  me  absurd." 

"  So  it  is,  but  then  everything  else  is  absurd.  We've 
got  ourselves  into  a  situation  which  would  make 
an  excellent  farce,  if  it  weren't  always  bordering  upon 
tragedy." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  continue  to  think  of 
Humphrey  when  he  has  ceased  to  think  of  you," 

360 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"Has  he?  Has  Dick  ceased  to  think  of  Felicia  de 
Prony?" 

Petrina  let  her  sewing  fall  and  turned  scarlet. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Emmy/'  she  stam 
mered. 

"Forgive  me/'  Lady  de  Bohun  cried,  seizing  Pe- 
trina's  hand.  "That  wasn't  kind;  but  you  began  it. 
Why  did  you  say  that  Humphrey  had  forgotten  me? 
You  might  have  known  that  I  couldn't  take  that  shot. 
Of  course,  dear,  Dick  doesn't  give  a  thought  to  Felicia 
now.  Besides,  she  doesn't  deserve  it." 

"She  never  did." 

"  And  at  present  less  than  ever.  I  saw  her  at  Horn- 
burg." 

Petrina  leaned  forward,  her  face  all  interrogation. 

"Poor  thing!"  Lady  de  Bohun  pursued.  "She  was 
only  the  ghost  of  her  former  self — like  me.  She  was 
terribly  thin  and  hollow-eyed.  You  had  to  imagine  her 
old-time  beauty,  as  a  naturalist  reconstructs  an  extinct 
animal  from  a  few  odd  bones.  She  was  with  a  man 
who  called  himself  a  Russian  prince,  but  who,  I  believe, 
was  an  Armenian  carpet  merchant.  Poor  thing !  She 
seemed  to  have  come  down  in  the  world.  I  know  she 
had  sold  her  wonderful  pearls,  for  those  she  wore  were 
false." 

"Did  you  speak  to  her?" 

"Once.  I  could  have  passed  her  by,  but  I  hadn't 
the  heart.  When  a  woman  like  her  has  lost  voice, 
health,  and  beauty  she  is  the  most  miserable  creature 
alive.  Fanny  Ambleside  and  Agneta  Yorkshire  had 
cut  her,  and  I  suppose  I  should  have  done  so  too.  But  I 
couldn't.  It  seemed  to  me  like  cutting  a  dying  woman." 

"Did  she  ask  about  Dick?" 

"She  didn't  ask  exactly.  She  spoke  about  him. 
She  seemed  to  keep  trace  of  him,and  knew  he  was  married 

361 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

to  you.  She  was  good-natured  about  it,  but  that  doesn't 
mean  anything.  Every  woman  is  a  dog  in  the  manger 
at  heart." 

Petrina  drew  the  conversation  upon  less  trying  sub 
jects,  by  inquiring  after  Tristram  and  Hippolyta. 
Presently  Lady  de  Bohun  rose  to  go  away. 

"  It  has  been  very  kind  of  you  to  come,  Emmy  dear," 
Petrina  said,  rising  too.  Her  eyes  were  moist  as  she 
looked  down  into  Emmy's  bright  ones.  "  I  was  afraid 
of  seeing  you.  I  fancied  you  might  think  I  had  done 
wrong." 

"  And  I  do,  my  dear.  It  wasn't  worth  while  saying 
so,  but  I  do.  Only,  who  am  I  to  judge  another  woman? 
Hasn't  my  own  sin  found  me  out?  Besides,  in  your 
case  I  feel  more  or  less  responsible." 

"Oh  no,  Emmy.  No  one  is  responsible  but  my 
self.  If  I  have  made  a  mistake,  no  one  else  is  to 
blame." 

"  I  was  older,"  Lady  de  Bohun  insisted,  ruefully.  "  I 
had  more  experience  than  you;  and  yet  I  accustomed 
you  to  the  idea.  If  I  hadn't  divorced  Humphrey  I  am 
sure  you  would  have  borne  with  Harry.  I  don't  mean 
that  I  influenced  you  consciously.  But  it  was  in  the 
atmosphere  we  lived  in.  It  was  like  a  mental  microbe. 
We  caught  it  from  one  another,  just  by  breathing  in  such 
an  air.  We're  all  morally  sick — Humphrey  and  Gentian 
and  you  and  I  and  the  whole  troop  of  Amblesides  and 
Yorkshires  and  Poynters  and  Tredellys  and  de  Pronys 
with  whom  we  have  mixed.  Even  Tristram  has  taken 
the  bacillus,  though  he  was  born  healthy  enough,  poor 
boy.  Hippolyta  and  Harry  are  the  only  two  who  have 
escaped,  and  they  can't  stand  us.  Yes,  Petrina  dear, 
I  am  to  blame.  Mother  thinks  so  too." 

"Does  she  speak  of  me?" 

"Always.     She  writes  pages  about  you." 

362 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"What  did  she  say  when  she  heard  I  was  married? 
Don't  be  afraid  to  tell  me." 

"She  was  perfectly  staggered.  Divorce  and  remar 
riage  are  possibilities  which  her  merely  nineteenth-cen 
tury  mind  have  not  been  able  to  grasp.  And  yet  she 
stands  up  for  you.  She  thinks  you  were  wrong;  but 
then  she  feels  as  I  do,  that  it  is  precisely  when  we  are 
wrong  that  friends  should  be  truest  to  one  another.  We 
forget  that  in  the  desire  to  avenge  our  injuries." 

Petrina  stood  a  moment  with  averted  facev  When 
she  spoke  there  was  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"Give  your  mother  my  love,  will  you,  Emmy? — my 
dear,  dear  love." 

"And  Harry  sent  you  this,"  Lady  de  Bohun  said 
abruptly.  She  took  her  muff  from  the  table,  and  drew 
forth  a  small  packet,  which  she  placed  in  Petrina's  hand. 
"  I  don't  know  what's  in  it,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  trying 
to  show  no  emotion.  "He  sent  it  to  me  a  long  time 
ago  with  instructions  not  to  give  it  to  you  till  we  met. 
He  said  it  was  of  no  importance,  so  I  suppose  it  isn't. 
Good-bye  now,  dear.  Come  over  to  Orpington  as  soon 
as  you  can,  and  bring  Dick.  Don't  come  to  the  door. 
Good-bye." 

Petrina  stood  pale  and  trembling,  the  packet  in  her 
hand.  She  was  scarcely  conscious  of  Emmy's  farewell 
embrace  or  sudden  departure.  Her  heart  was  beating 
wildly;  her  breath  came  in  sobs 

"My  husband  has  sent  me  something,"  was  the 
thought  which  was  crying  through  her  brain.  "My 
husband  has  sent  me  this." 

She  turned  the  packet  over.  It  was  sealed,  but  unad- 
dressed.  Then  she  went  to  the  door  and  locked  it. 
Returning  she  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and  with  nervous 
hands  tore  the  outer  fold  of  paper  apart. 

363 


CHAPTER    II 
ON  an  inner  envelope  Petrina  read  these  words : 

"  What  is  contained  within  was  written,  not  quite  with  the 
intention  that  you  should  ever  see  it,  not  quite  with  the  inten 
tion  that  you  should  never  see  it  It  will  serve  now  to  show 
you  that  I  know  I  have  been  wrong." 

The  sight  of  the  handwriting,  once  so  familiar,  thrilled 
her.  She  opened  the  envelope  and  drew  out  the  folded 
sheets.  She  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  contents  had  been 
jotted  down  from  time  to  time  at  the  urging  of  some  half- 
articulate  emotion.  She  read  slowly  and,  at  first,  with 
imperfect  comprehension. 

"  January  2. 

"  Two  years  to-day !  Two  years  which  might  have  been  so 
full,  and  have  been  so  empty!  Why  did  you  go?  Why  did  I 
let  you  go?  Your  scorn  turned  me  to  stone ;  but  love  as  great 
as  mine  should  never  have  owned  itself  defeated.  It  must 
have  prevailed  over  you  at  last.  I  have  been  to  blame." 

"  January  3. 

"  Some  one  has  said  that  we  are  forgiven  for  our  sins,  but 
never  for  our  mistakes.  I  have  found  it  so.  For  mine  I  have 
been  chastised  with  scorpions.  I  loved  you,  and  did  not  un 
derstand  you.  It  was  more  than  a  mistake ;  it  was  a  crime. 
I  should  have  studied  you  and  learned  you.  I  should  have 
given  myself  up  to  the  effort  to  know  you.  But  is  it  too  late 
now?  Surely  there  is  a  place  of  repentance  for  me!  I  would 
make  any  reparation  you  demanded — saving  what  I  owe  to 
conscience,  right,  and  God." 

364 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"  January  4. 

"  One  learns  much  in  solitude.  I  can  understand  why  Moses, 
amid  the  mountains  of  Midian,  should  have  grown  wiser  than 
in  the  court  of  Pharaoh.  The  two  years  since  we  parted  have 
been  years  of  solitude  to  me.  I  have  mixed  much  with  men, 
but  among  them  I  have  been  as  in  a  desert.  I  have  lived  with 
an  invisible  companion ;  I  have  had  but  one  friend ;  I  have  seen 
but  one  face ;  I  have  known  but  one  personality.  It  has  been — 
my  Wife.  My  Wife!  How  strange  it  seems  to  me  that  there 
was  a  time  when  I  called  you  so  without  trembling.  Now  the 
two  little  words  overpower  me.  They  have  become  to  me  what 
the  Sacred  Name  was  to  the  Jew.  I  can  no  longer  speak  them. 
Even  to  write  them  makes  my  heart  seem  to  stop  still.  My 
Wife!  Mine!  Mine!  I  cling  to  that  proud  possessive.  It 
gives  you  to  me.  It  binds  you  to  me.  You  are  mine.  You 
are  far  away.  You  have  ceased  to  care  for  me.  But  the  love 
you  once  had,  the  love  I  still  have,  makes  you  mine.  You 
gave  yourself  to  me,  and  '  The  gods  themselves  cannot  recall 
their  gifts.'  You  cannot  take  yours  back.  You  made  your 
self — my  Wife.  You  may  regret  the  deed,  but  it  cannot  be 
undone." 

"January  5. 

"  It  cannot  be  undone.  I  repeat  the  words  I  wrote  last  night. 
And  since  this  is  so,  why  not  try  once  more  to  be  to  each  other 
what,  at  first,  we  meant  to  be?  Could  you  not  make  the  effort? 
Could  you  not  let  me  make  it  too?  I  know  that  you  despise 
me ;  I  have  given  you  cause  for  that ;  but  I  love  you  so  that  I 
believe  I  could  win  you  back.  I  know  that  you  hate  me.  I 
have  given  you  cause  for  even  that ;  but  I  love  you  so  that  I  feel 
the  power  to  compel  your  love  to  return  to  me.  Could  we  not 
begin  again?  You  are  mine.  I  am  yours.  We  are  bone  and 
bone  and  flesh  and  flesh.  We  are  one  entity.  As  long  as  we 
are  apart  we  are  cut  in  two.  We  belong  together.  I  away 
from  you,  you  away  from  me — we  live  only  as  the  branches 
live  when  they  have  been  lopped  from  the  tree.  Oh,  let  us  go 
back  to  one  another!  Where  are  you?  I  do  not  know.  It 
is  long  since  I  have  had  word  of  you.  But  wherever  you  may 
be,  come  back.  Or  give  me  just  one  sign,  and  I  will  go  to  you." 

365 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"January  6. 

"Yes,  I  will  go.  I  will  not  wait  for  a  sign.  I  cannot  wait. 
I  must  find  you — see  you — hear  you.  In  the  two  years  I  have 
not  grown  used  to  your  absence — not  any  more  than  the  thirsty 
man  grows  used  to  thirst.  Each  day  has  increased  the  tort 
ure.  I  have  endured  it  only  by  a  dogged  self-command  that 
I  did  not  know  to  be  in  me ;  I  have  endured  it  only  because  I 
have  been  sure  that  if  I  appealed  to  you,  you  would  turn  away. 
And  yet  that  is  not  all  the  truth.  I  have  been  upborne  by 
pride  and  anger,  though  they  are  past  now.  I  am  chastened. 
I  am  brought  low.  I  am  humbled  as  the  beast  is  humbled 
when  he  has  not  been  fed.  Oh,  feed  me !  Feed  me  with  your 
presence ;  if  that  is  too  much,  with  a  word ;  if  that  is  too  much, 
with  a  look;  if  that  is  too  much,  with  a  thought,  which  will 
not  be  all  disdain." 

"  January  7. 

"I  know  where  you  are.  I  have  learned  it  to-day.  Why 
are  you  there?  It  seems  strange  to  me.  But  no  matter.  To 
morrow  I  go  to  find  you.  I  have  waited  long  enough.  Even 
you  cannot  but  admit  that  I  have  been  patient — patient,  but 
never  indifferent,  as  some  have  supposed  me  to  have  grown. 
If  I  seemed  to  yield  too  soon,  to  give  up  the  fight  half-heart 
edly,  it  was  because  I  would  not  ask  of  you  that  which  you 
could  not  do  spontaneously.  I  was  too  proud  to  plead,  too 
sensitive  to  persist,  too  jealous,  too  angry,  too  brutal  to  ask 
for  your  forgiveness.  But  I  am  so  no  longer.  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  was  right  or  wrong.  I  do  not  care.  I  start  to-mor 
row  to  find  you.  At  least  the  silence  between  us  will  be  broken. 
I  shall  see  your  face,  if  only  as  I  saw  it  last — in  scorn." 

"  January  8. 

"  No ;  I  cannot  go.  I  received  word  this  morning  that  you 
mean  to  break  the  tie  that  has  been  so  loose.  Can  you  mean 
it?  Can  you  be  so  cruel?  You  have  often  wounded  me,  but 
can  you  slay  my  heart  outright?  No;  I  will  not  go.  I  am 
staggered  by  this  new  blow ;  stunned  by  this  new  insult.  I  was 
ready  to  pardon  you,  to  come  crouching  to  your  feet  and  ask 
you  to  pardon  me — even  where  I  had  not  been  wrong.  Now 

366 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

I  will  leave  you  to  do  as  you  desire.  Go  on.  I  could  stop 
you  if  I  chose,  but  why  should  I?  Why  should  I  try  to  hold 
you?  You  will  get  a  nominal  freedom ;  I  shall  get  it  too. 
But  nothing  can  ever  break  the  real  bond  between  us.  Do 
not  deceive  yourself  about  that.  You  may  control  human 
law,  but  you  will  be  vanquished  by  the  divine.  And  by  all 
that  is  God,  by  all  that  is  Nature,  by  all  that  is  Love,  you  are 
my  wife.  I  am  your  husband.  You  may  tear  yourself  away 
from  me,  you  may  go  where  you  will  and  become  what  you 
will,  you  may  tell  yourself  never  so  often  that  I  am  nothing 
to  you  and  that  you  are  nothing  to  me,  but  in  your  heart  there 
will  always  lie  the  knowledge,  however  unavowed,  that  we  are 
man  and  wife.  I  leave  that  fact  to  avenge  me.  The  day  will 
come  when  you  will  confess  that  man  cannot  put  asunder  those 
whom  God  has  joined  together.  Then  your  chastisement  will 
begin." 

"  January  10. 

"  Why  did  I  write  thus?  I  cannot  tell.  I  let  it  stand,  even 
though  I  take  it  back.  After  all,  you  are  right,  perhaps.  It 
is  wrong  to  chain  the  eagle  to  the  earth ;  it  is  wrong,  doubtless, 
that  you  should  be  chained  to  me.  I  am  of  the  earth — dull, 
laborious,  commonplace ;  you  are  a  glorious  creature  meant 
to  soar  in  strength  and  beauty.  Go ;  rise ;  live  your  life.  I 
stay  here,  gazing  after  you.  What  should  I  do  if  I  brought 
you  back — even  if  you  came  back  of  your  own  free  will?  I 
could  not  make  you  happy.  You  would  be  like  a  bird  of  the 
cliffs,  caught  and  kept  in  a  cage.  We  were  not  made  for  each 
other.  We  could  never  meet  more  closely  than  land  meets 
sea — just  enough  to  touch,  but  to  stay  apart.  I  am  the  pine- 
tree  that  has  loved  a  palm.  There  is  no  future  for  me  but  to 
stand  rooted  in  my  barren  north-land.  Be  it  so.  I  accept 
my  portion.  But  oh,  I  have  loved  you!  you  will  never  know, 
I  could  never  say,  how  well.  I  have  sometimes  thought  that 
you  did  not  understand  this ;  that  I  never  tried  sufficiently  to 
make  you  understand.  They  say  our  New  England  hearts 
are  encased  with  ice ;  but  if  so,  it  is  ice  behind  which  there  is 
fire.  In  my  heart  that  fire  will  always  burn.  If  the  time 
should  ever  come  when  you  are  cold  and  comfortless,  come 

367 


Let   Not  Man   Put   Asunder 

back  and  warm  yourself  at  its  flame ;  it  will  be  bright  for  your 
return." 

"April  II. 

"  Our  wedding-day — three  years  ago.  I  hear  you  have  gone 
to  Italy — free.  And  you  have  left  me  here — free.  Great  God, 
what  freedom!  If  I  were  a  woman,  I'd  rather  be  a  harem  slave 
than  to  be  free  like  you ;  free  at  such  a  price ;  free,  and  yet, 
after  all,  not  free;  for  you  are  bound  to  me.  Only  when  the 
living  heart  can  be  torn  out  of  the  living  body  can  your  ex 
istence  be  wrenched  out  of  mine.  You  have  sailed  away  think 
ing  you  are  rid  of  me.  I  say  nothing ;  I  do  nothing.  I  live  my 
plodding,  monotonous  life,  which  you  think  you  could  never 
share.  You  must  share  it — and  more  intimately  now  than 
ever.  The  farther  you  go  from  me,  the  more  persistently  will 
your  thoughts  return.  Your  heart  will  cry  My  Husband,  even 
when  your  lips  refuse  to  frame  the  word.  Oh,  love,  you  can 
never  be  rid  of  me! — not  any  more  than  the  assassin  can  be 
rid  of  the  man  whom  he  has  slain." 

"August  19. 

"  I  have  just  heard  that  you  are  married ;  and  to  him — mine 
own  familiar  friend!  There  are  blows  too  hard  ever  to  ex 
pect,  ever  to  repay,  ever  to  forgive.  How  strange  that,  writ 
ing  four  months  ago,  I  should  have  used  of  you  the  word  As 
sassin!  It  was  a  figure  then;  it  is  a  fact  now.  Good-bye, 
good-bye.  The  fire  is  always  burning  in  this  poor  heart, 
which  every  one  thinks  frozen;  but  you  will  never  come  to 
warm  yourself  at  it  any  more.  That  hope,  dim  as  it  was,  is 
ended.  Once  more,  good-bye." 

"August  20. 

"  And  yet,  by  God,  you  are  my  wife ;  you  are  not  his ;  you 
never  can  be  his.  I  recognize  no  law  that  gives  him  what 
is  mine.  Remember  that.  Cut  it  word  by  word  on  the  tab 
lets  of  your  heart :  you  are  not  his  wife.  Oh,  unhappy  wom 
an,  how  far  pride  and  folly  and  self-will  have  carried  you! 
Up  to  the  present  my  arms  have  been  open  to  you,  waiting  for 
your  return;  now  they  are  closed.  But  no!  I  must  not  say 
it.  The  love  I  had  for  you,  the  pity  I  still  have,  make  me  gen- 

368 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

tie  with  you,  even  against  my  will.  Time  will  beat  you  down. 
There  will  come  a  day  when  you  must  drink  of  the  cup  which 
you  have  mingled.  You  will  reach  an  hour  when  the  reed 
you  are  leaning  on  will  break.  And  then — even  then — if  you 
were  to  look  towards  home,  you  would  find  its  doors  open.  I 
am  your  husband;  you  are  my  wife;  and  in  spite  of  all,  if  a 
moment  of  need  ever  comes  to  you,  I  shall  be  at  your  side. 
This  shall  be  my  last  word  to  you.  Again,  and  I  suppose  for 
ever,  good-bye,  good-bye!" 

• 

It  was  not  until  she  had  read  these  broken  utterances 
more  than  once  that  Petrina  began  to  understand  them. 
As  their  sense  stole  upon  her,  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 
When,  for  the  third  time,  she  had  scanned  them  to  the 
very  end,  she  bowed  her  head  upon  the  table  and  sobbed. 

"Oh,  Harry,  my  husband/'  she  moaned,  "you  loved 
me,  after  all.  Why  did  I  leave  you?  Why  am  I  here, 
in  this  strange  place,  with  this  strange  man?  This  is 
not  my  husband;  this  is  not  my  home.  Where  are 
you?  Don't  you  know  I  love  you? — that  I  have  loved 
you  all  along?" 

But  she  started  up  with  a  cry. 

"What  am  I  saying?  What  am  I  making  of  my 
self?  Whose  wife  am  I?  Oh,  my  God,  into  what  mad 
situation  have  I  brought  myself!" 

She  seized  again  the  paper  which  had  fallen  from 
her  hands,  and  read  at  random  here  and  there : 

"  I  have  lived  with  an  invisible  companion ;  I  have  had  but 
one  friend;  I  have  seen  but  one  face;  I  have  known  but  one 
personality.  It  has  been — my  Wife." 

"The  two  little  words  overpower  me.  They  have  become 
to  me  what  the  Sacred  Name  was  to  the  Jew.  Even  to  write 
them  makes  my  heart  seem  to  stop  still.  My  Wife!" 

"The  love  you  once  had,  the  love  I  still  have,  makes  you 
mine." 

2A  369 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"  You  are  mine.  I  am  yours.  We  are  bone  and  bone  and 
flesh  and  flesh.  We  are  one  entity." 

"  Nothing  can  ever  break  the  real  bond  between  us.  Do 
not  deceive  yourself  about  that.  You  may  control  human 
law,  but  you  will  be  vanquished  by  the  divine.  And  by  all 
that  is  God,  by  all  that  is  Nature,  by  all  that  is  Love,  you  are 
my  wife." 

"  Only  when  the  living  heart  can  be  torn  out  of  the  living 
body  can  your  existence  be  wrenched  out  of  mine." 

"Oh,  unhappy  woman — !" 

But  she  could  read  no  more.  She  flung  the  paper 
from  her  and  fell  upon  her  knees. 

"Harry,  dear  Harry,  spare  me!"  she  muttered,  bro 
kenly.  "  I  have  wronged  you.  I  was  bitter  to  you.  But 
oh,  take  me  back!  Let  me  come  home.  I  am  afraid. 
Everything  here  is  so  mysterious  and  awful.  I  don't 
know  what  Dick  means.  I  don't  know  why  he  is  so 
silent  and  strange.  I  don't  even  know  why  he  mar 
ried  me.  Come  for  me!  Help  me  to  escape!  It  is  like 
living  in  a  nightmare.  I  am  your  wife.  We  gave  each 
other  our  young  love;  we  were  to  each  other  what  we 
could  be  to  no  one  else,  what  no  one  else  can  ever  be 
to  us.  All  the  consecration  that  makes  two  beings  one 
came  down  on  us  and  made  us  man  and  wife.  We  are 
the  living  heart  in  the  living  body;  to  be  torn  asunder 
is  like  death.  I  know  it,  Harry.  I  have  always  known 
it.  But  I  was  ignorant,  wilful,  and  wicked.  They  per 
plexed  me  with  their  laws  and  lies.  They  made  me 
think  the  unnatural  natural  and  the  false  true.  But 
I  have  learned  better.  I  am  your  wife.  I  am  not  Dick's. 
I  am  only  Dick's — " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  again.  The  blood  surged  into 
her  face  and  receded  suddenly,  leaving  her  pale.  The 
room  seemed  to  swim  around  her,  and  she  leaned  on  the 
high  back  of  a  chair  to  keep  herself  steady. 

370 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

"Dick's  what?"  she  asked  herself. 

"  His  mistress/'  came  the  reply,  as  if  delivered  by  a 
voice  outside  her.  "His  mistress/' the  voice  repeated. 
"  His  mistress !  His  mistress  I ' ' 

She  threw  her  head  back  proudly.  She  stood  quite 
still.  Her  mind  seemed  to  take  an  attitude  of  defiance. 

"  If  you  are  Harry  Vassall's  wife,  you  are  Dick  Lech- 
mere's  mistress,"  went  hammering  through  her  brain. 

"I  am  not  Dick  Lechmere's  mistress." 

"Then  you  are  not  Harry  Vassall's  wife." 

"My  God,  I  am  trapped!"  she  cried,  quite  aloud,  her 
voice  sounding  strange  in  the  silence  of  the  room.  She 
made  a  sudden  movement,  like  a  captive  animal  trying 
to  wrench  itself  free.  "  I  am  trapped,"  she  repeated,  in  a 
dry,  hard  voice,  full  of  a  tearless  recognition  of  her  sit 
uation.  "If  I  am  the  one  man's  wife  I  am  the  other 
man's  mistress.  I  can't  evade  that  fact.  It  is  too  clear. 
If  I  am  still  Harry's  wife,  I  am  a  fallen  woman." 

A  quick  exclamation,  like  a  mirthless  laugh,  burst 
from  her  lips.  She  began  to  pace  feverishly  up  and 
down  the  room.  As  she  passed  a  mirror  her  figure, 
with  its  long  tread,  seemed  to  herself  like  that  of  some 
feline  creature  in  a  cage.  Her  very  eyes  had  the 
expression  of  a  mured-up  thing  searching  with  a  rest 
less,  pathetic  patience  for  some  unhoped-for  means  of 
escape. 

"If  I  am  still  Harry's  wife  I  am  a  fallen  woman.  If 
I  am  still  Harry's  wife  I  am  a  fallen  woman." 

She  repeated  the  words  mechanically.  Their  mean 
ing  was  too  great  to  be  taken  in  all  at  once. 

"If  I  am  still  Harry's  wife  I  am  a  fallen  woman.  And 
I  am  Harry's  wife.  He  is  quite  right.  I  am  his  wife. 
I  gave  myself  to  him  in  a  way  which  admits  of  no  taking 
back.  Nature  itself  tells  one  so.  Divorce?  What  is 
a  divorce?  The  tearing  of  bone  from  bone  and  flesh 

371 


Let   Not    Man    Put  Asunder 

from  flesh.  If  it  were  a  possible  thing  it  would  be  a 
crime  against  Nature.  But  it  isn't  a  possible  thing. 
Oh,  I  wonder  if  other  women  feel  as  I  do?  I  know  so 
many  who  have  passed  from  husband  to  husband.  I 
wonder  if  they  ever  have  moments  like  this?  I  won 
der  if  they  don't  have  days  when  Nature  asserts  herself 
above  sophistry,  and  they  own  themselves  what  they 
are?" 

She  paced  up  and  down  and  round  and  round,  turn 
ing  on  her  steps  like  a  tigress.  Suddenly  she  stopped 
by  the  table  and  again  snatched  up  the  loose  sheets  she 
had  thrown  down. 

"'You  may  tear  yourself  away  from  me/"  she  read, 
"you  may  go  where  you  will  and  become  what  you 
will,  you  may  tell  yourself  never  so  often  that  I  am 
nothing  to  you,  and  that  you  are  nothing  to  me;  but 
in  your  heart  there  will  always  be  the  knowledge,  how 
ever  una vowed,  that  we  are  man  and  wife.'  Yes ;  that's 
true,"  she  commented.  "That  knowledge  is  in  my 
heart.  We  are  man  and  wife." 

She  turned  the  pages  hastily  and  with  trembling 
hands. 

"'The  farther  you  go  from  me/"  she  read  again, 
"'the  more  persistently  will  your  thoughts  return. 
Your  heart  will  cry,  My  Husband,  even  when  your  lips 
refuse  to  frame  the  word.'  But  they  don't  refuse  any 
longer,  Harry,"  she  whispered,  hoarsely.  "I  admit  it 
all.  But  why  have  you  come  back  to  me  so?  I  thought 
I  had  forgotten  you;  you  seemed  so  far  away;  it  was 
as  if. I  had  outlived  you;  and  now,  O  heart  of  my  heart! 
you  are  back  with  me,  claiming  me,  mastering  me, 
when  I  am  only  a  fallen  woman  who  dares  not  return. 
If  I  am  your  wife  I  am  his  mistress — mistress! — mis 
tress! — mistress!  Who  ever  could  have  predicted  that 
such  a  name  should  one  day  be  applied  to  me?  I  was 

372 


Let   Not    Man   Put  Asunder 

so  proud,  so  disdainful,  so  independent!  And  now  the 
meanest  may  scorn  me  as  they  pass  me  by." 

She  crushed  the  page  in  her  hand,  throwing  it  again 
on  the  table,  and  staggered  to  the  mantel-piece.  She 
leaned  on  it  to  support  herself,  feeling  dizzy  and  faint. 

"I  suppose,"  she  mused,  bitterly,  "that  it  is  in  such 
moments  as  this  that  people  create  for  themselves  a  god. 
They  want  some  one  to  do  the  impossible,  and  so  they 
pray.  If  I  believed  in  a  god  I  should  pray,  too.  But 
there  is  nothing  in  all  the  universe  almighty  enough 
to  take  me  out  of  the  net  in  which  I  have  been  caught. 

0  God! — God  whom  Harry  Vassall  serves  and  Dick 
Lechmere  believes  in! — if  you  were  here  in  this  room 
with  me,  as  they  would  tell  me  that  you  are,  I  should 
cry  to  you,  out  of  all  the    depths    of  a  woman's  woe, 
to  come  and  help  me.     But  you  are  not!     There  is  no 
such  God!     If  I  prayed  I  should  only  beat  the  air  and 
call  upon  what  is  even  more  helpless  than  myself." 

But  a  sudden  change  came  over  her.  An  expression 
of  terror  passed  for  an  instant  across  her  face.  She 
began  once  more  to  pace  the  room. 

"What  am  I  saying?  I  have  gone  mad.  I  have  let 
myself  be  frightened.  I  mustn't  be  foolish.  I  must 
try  not  to  give  way." 

She  paused  before  the  mirror  and  looked  at  herself. 

"A  fallen  woman,"  were  the  words  that  crossed  her 
mind;  but  at  their  repetition  she  revolted. 

"Never,  never!"  she  said  aloud,  with  a  quick  return 
of  energy.  "Never,  never!  I  shall  never  admit  that. 

1  shall  break  my  own  heart  first.     I  shall  crush  out 
everything  I  ever  believed  in  or  held  as  true." 

With  this  new  resolution  a  little  color  came  stealing 
back  to  her  cheek;  the  light  of  pride  gleamed  again  in 
her  eyes.  She  looked  at  herself  with  more  approval. 
A  hard  smile  began  to  glimmer  about  her  lips. 

373 


Let   Not   Man   Put    Asunder 

"You've  been  frightened  by  a  ghost,"  she  said,  ad 
dressing  her  reflection  in  the  glass.  "But  it's  only  a 
ghost.  Hereafter  you  must  be  more  courageous.  The 
day  isn't  lost.  There  is  still  something  left  to  fight 
for.  You  must  be  strong  and  daring,  and  never  assent 
to  a  suspicion  upon  your  own  honor.  Harry  Vassall 
must  be  nothing  to  you.  If  his  image  is  still  in  your 
heart,  stamp  it  out.  Despise  what  he  has  written.  Laugh 
at  what  he  thinks.  Show  neither  weakness  nor  mercy, 
for  otherwise  you  are  lost.  You  are  lost,  do  you  hear? 
You  must  be  Dick  Lechmere's  wife.  It  is  that  title 
which  alone  gives  you  self-esteem,  and  enables  you  to 
hold  up  your  head  among  men.  You  must  cling  to  it 
yourself;  you  must  let  no  one  question  your  right  to 
wear  it.  For  you  Harry  Vassall  is  like  a  dead  man. 
You  are  Petrina  Lechmere,  Dick  Lechmere's  wife." 

She  turned  from  the  mirror  slowly.  She  was  calmer. 
Her  color  died  away  again,  but  her  excitement  died, 
too. 

"Yes,  I  must  be  Dick's  wife,"  she  assented.  "I 
must  be  that.  I  must  be  that.  I  must  blot  Harry  out 
forever.  I  have  no  choice  about  it.  Everything  de 
pends  upon  my  doing  so.  The  lot  is  cast,  and  I  must 
abide  by  it.  Whatever  I  feel,  I  must  believe  that  that 
tie  is  broken.  The  man  I  love  is  nothing  to  me  any 
more.  I  am  Dick's  wife.  I  am  Dick's  wife." 

She  moved  slowly  towards  the  table  and  gathered 
up  the  scattered  sheets  covered  with  Vassall's  writing. 
She  folded  them  with  care.  Then,  stooping,  she  laid 
them  on  the  fire  and  watched  them  burn. 

Into  the  little  packet  the  fire  ate  its  way  but  slowly. 
The  sheets,  bordered  by  a  faint  edge  of  flame,  grew 
crisp  and  curled  apart.  Here  and  there  the  lines  of 
writing  became  legible.  Petrina  bent  down  and  read : 

"Love  as  great  as  mine — '' 
374 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

"The  love  I  still  have—" 

"  Oh,  let  us  go  back  to  one  another — " 

"I  am  your  husband;  you  are  my  wife." 

"  Forever  good-bye — good-bye ! ' ' 

But  the  fire  burned  up  more  briskly,  and  a  quick- 
leaping  flame  blotted  out  all  the  rest.  A  few  minutes 
later  there  was  nothing  left  of  the  record  ofVassall's 
love  but  a  little  heap  of  ashes. 

Petrina  turned  from  the  fire,  and,  walking  to  tjie 
window,  laid  her  forehead  against  the  pane. 

"It's  all  over/'  she  murmured.  "I  don't  care.  I 
must  not  love  him.  I  don't  love  him.  I  love  Dick. 
He  is  my  husband.  I  don't  care." 

She  choked  back  the  sob  which  rose  as  if  in  protest 
against  her  words,  and  tried  to  regain  her  self-posses 
sion.  She  noticed  that  it  was  growing  dark.  Dick 
would  be  coming  in.  He  must  not,  suspect  that  any 
thing  had  happened  to  unnerve  her. 

Going  to  the  door,  she  unlocked  it  and  passed  out  into 
the  hall. 

"Has  Mr.  Lechmere  returned?"  she  asked  a  ser 
vant. 

"Yes'm,"  replied  the  woman.  "He  has  just  gone 
up-stairs." 

Petrina  went  up  too,  dragging  herself  wearily. 

Her  own  room,  as  she  entered  it,  was  dark,  but  the 
light  shone  through  the  half-open  door  which  led  into 
Lechmere's  dressing-room.  Instinctively  she  paused 
and  looked  within.  Under  the  hanging  lamp  Lech- 
mere  was  standing  partially  turned  towards  her.  In 
his  left  hand,  which  fell  at  his  side,  he  grasped  a  news 
paper.  He  had  apparently  been  reading  it.  Petrina 
noticed  unconsciously  that  it  was  the  Paris  Figaro. 
In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  miniature,  into  which  he 
was  gazing  earnestly.  Petrina  knew  it  to  be  the  like- 

375 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

ness  of  Felicia  de  Prony,  that  always  stood  beside 
his  bed.  When  he  had  looked  long  he  raised  the  min 
iature  to  his  lips. 

"And  I  have  burned  Harry's  last  words  to  me,"  Pe- 
trina  thought,  as  she  sank  into  a  chair  and  sighed. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  sigh  called  Lechmere's  attention.  He  put  the 
portrait  of  Felicia  in  its  place  on  the  table  and  entered 
her  room. 

"Are  you  there,  Petrina?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Dick." 

He  came  and  stood  before  her.  In  the  darkness  she 
could  not  see  his  face,  but  she  had  a  premonition  of 
trouble. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter?"  she  inquired,  when  he  did 
not  speak. 

"I  am  going  away/'  he  stammered.  "I've  had 
important  news.  I  must  take  the  night  express  to 
Paris." 

Her  heart  sank.  She  felt  instinctively  that  the  jour 
ney  had  some  connection  with  Felicia  de  Prony. 

"Shall  you  be  gone  long?" 

"  I  can't  tell  yet.  It  may  be  a  week.  It  may  be  more. 
I  will  write  to  you." 

Other  questions  were  on  her  lips,  but  she  dared  not 
put  them.  She  was  trembling  with  fear.  After  all, 
she  might  lose  him.  She  had  given  herself  to  him, 
but  he  might  be  tired  already  of  the  gift.  He  would 
not  be  dastardly ;  she  was  sure  of  that.  But  if  the  call 
of  the  one  love  of  his  life  were  to  come  to  him  he  would 
be  deaf  to  any  claims  that  she  could  put  forth  and 
heedless  of  any  pain  she  might  have  to  suffer.  She 
knew  that  she  would  count  for  nothing  if  Felicia  de 
Prony  were  to  speak. 

377 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"I  sha'n't  remain  longer  than  I  can  help,"  he  added, 
as  she  remained  silent. 

"Very  well,"  she  replied. 

"You  might  have  Emmy  de  Bohun  come  to  stay 
with  you.  Or  you  might  stay  with  her." 

"Possibly.     We  will  see." 

"I'm  sorry,  Petrina.     I  hope  you  don't  mind." 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  answered,  rising.  "  If  you  have 
business  you  must  attend  to  it.  Can  I  do  anything 
to  help  you  pack?" 

" No,  thanks.     Brooks  is  seeing  to  that." 

"Then  you  will  not  be  here  to  dinner?" 

"I  shall  scarcely  have  time.  I  must  take  the  six- 
twenty-rive  to  Charing  Cross." 

No  more  was  said.  Petrina  maintained  her  calm 
demeanor  until  he  had  gone.  But  when,  after  dinner, 
she  was  alone  in  the  sitting-room,  where  she  had  spent 
the  afternoon,  she  began  to  seek  the  reasons  for  this 
hasty  journey.  All  at  once  she  remembered  the 
Figaro  she  had  seen  in  his  hand.  She  had  paid  no 
attention  to  it  then,  but  now  it  became  important. 

"There  was  something  in  it,"  she  said.  "I  wonder 
if  he  has  left  it  behind." 

She  hurried  up-stairs,  and,  lighting  a  candle,  went 
into  his  room.  Yes,  there  was  the  journal  folded  neat 
ly  and  laid  in  a  corner.  She  looked  at  the  date  and 
found  it  yesterday's.  It  was  the  copy  which  had  ar 
rived  at  Oldbarns  that  afternoon.  She  put  down  her 
candle,  and  took  the  paper  in  her  hands.  She  passed 
over  the  political  article  by  "Whist,"  and  the  diloague by 
Alfred  Capus.  She  looked  rapidly  through  the  "  Echos," 
but  there  was  nothing  there,  and  over  "  Hors  Paris,"  but 
there  was  nothing  there.  In  "  Le  Monde  et  la  Ville  " 
there  was  likewise  nothing ;  but  in  the  "  Courrier  des 
Theatres  "  the  name  she  was  seeking  caught  her  eye. 

378 


Let    Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"Nous  apprenons  avec  regret,"  Petrina  read,  " que 
Madame  Felicia  de  Prony  n'a  pas  pu  continuer  son  en 
gagement  a  la  Potiniere.  L 'admirable  artiste,  autrefois 
si  applaudie  a  I'Opera-Comique,  est  tombee  serieusement 
malade.  Elle  a  deja  quitte  Paris  et  est  partie  pour  I'ltalie 
et  I'Egypte." 

Petrina  let  the  journal  fall. 

"Yes/'  she  said  to  herself;  "yes,  I  thought  so.  She 
is  ill,  and  he  has  gone  to  her.  I  might  have  known  he 
would.  I  might  have  predicted  it  that  day  in  Windsor 
Forest.  Oh,  what  a  fool  I've  been!  No  woman  ever 
thought  so  highly  of  herself,  and  yet  has  lived  to  be 
brought  so  low.  I  am  deserted  for  the  second  time.  I 
wonder  if  he  will  ever  come  back?" 

She  sank  into  an  arm-chair  and  stared  with  dull, 
half-unconscious  gaze  at  the  flickering  of  the  candle. 

"What  was  it  Harry  wrote?"  she  asked  herself  at 
last.  '  There  will  come  a  day  when  you  must  drink 
of  the  cup  which  you  have  mingled.'  Well,  that  day 
has  come  sooner  than  he  thought.  I  wish  I  hadn't 
burned  the  writing.  But,  no;  it  was  better  to  do  it. 
The  words,  as  he  says,  are  '  cut  on  the  tablets  of  my 
heart';  I  shall  not  forget  them." 

She  picked  up  the  Figaro  from  the  floor  and  read  the 
paragraph  again. 

"Italy  and  Egypt,"  she  commented.  "The  range 
is  wide ;  he  may  not  be  able  to  find  her.  '  La  Potiniere '  I 
What  is  that?  Ah,  yes,  I  remember.  A  sort  of  Folies- 
Bergere  of  the  exterior  boulevards.  She  must,  indeed, 
have  fallen  low  to  accept  an  engagement  there.  And 
it  is  for  a  woman  like  that  that  he  has  left  me!  I  won 
der  why  he  married  me  at  all?  But  need  I  ask?  It 
was  for  the  same  reason  that  I  married  him.  We  thought 
to  console  each  other;  and  we  have  waked  to  find  our 
selves  inconsolable.  Besides,  in  marrying  me  he  was 

379 


Let  Not  Man  Put  Asunder 

disloyal  to  Harry.  He  didn't  think  of  it  at  first,  but  1 
can  see  his  remorse  for  it  now.  He  is  so  dishonorable, 
and  yet  so  sensitive  to  dishonor!  Poor  Dick!  He  re 
minds  me  of  Vathek  when  the  flame  begins  to  burn  in  his 
heart.  And  I  am  like  Nouronihar.  I  feel  as  if  the 
fire  had  broken  out  in  mine.  Dick  and  I  can  never 
look  each  other  in  the  face  again  without  being  con 
scious  of  the  torment  which  overtakes  those  who  try  to 
gain  their  ends  through  treachery." 

She  rose  and  went  down-stairs.  The  evening  dragged 
itself  away  somehow.  She  tried  to  read;  she  tried  to 
sew;  she  tried  to  keep  herself  from  thinking;  but  in 
spite  of  herself  her  memory  went  back  to  the  night  when 
she  had  waited  for  Harry  Vassall  in  the  silent  house  in 
Boston. 

With  the  morning  her  dread  took  complete  posses 
sion  of  her.  Lechmere  might  never  return.  If  he  found 
Felicia  de  Prony  willing  to  keep  him,  it  was  certain 
that  he  would  stay.  And  Petrina  clung  to  him  as  she 
had  never  clung  to  Vassall.  There  was  nothing  but 
his  name  between  her  and  social  downfall.  If  he  were 
to  leave  her  it  would  mean  that  she  had  lost  all  claim 
not  only  to  the  world's  consideration,  but  to  her  own 
self-respect.  She  would  become  like  some  of  the  vile 
women  she  had  known — like  Mrs.  Tredelly,  for  instance, 
who  lived  now  under  one  man's  roof  and  now  under 
another's — women  whom  she  had  treated  with  con 
temptuous  toleration,  but  from  whose  touch  she  had 
drawn  her  skirts  away.  As  the  days  went  by  she  grew 
more  and  more  to  feel — even  morbid  ly  to  feel — that 
only  the  continuance  of  Lechmere's  favor  would  pre 
serve  her  from  a  fate  like  that. 

It  was,  therefore,  some  slight  satisfaction  to  be  able 
to  guess  from  his  letters  that  he  had  not  found  Felicia. 
He  wrote  often,  but  rarely  twice  from  the  same  place. 

380 


From  Paris  he  had  pushed  on  at  once  to  Italy,  and  the 
letters  Petrina  received  were  from  Turin,  Venice,  Milan, 
Padua,  Bologna,  Florence,  Rome,  and  Naples.  By- 
and-b}^  they  came  from  Alexandria  and  Cairo;  then 
from  Athens,  Constantinople,  Buda-Pesth,  and  Vienna. 
He  was  evidently  travelling  fast,  as  though  following 
some  will-o'-the  wisp  of  hope.  When  he  came  back  he 
looked  ten  years  older.  He  said  nothing,  and  Petrina 
asked  no  questions,  but  she  knew  that  his  search  had 
been  in  vain. 

"Where  did  Dick  go?"  Emilia  de  Bohun  asked  one 
day,  just  after  Lechmere  returned. 

Petrina  had  driven  over  to  Orpington  Park,  deter 
mined  not  to  give  any  hint  of  her  anxiety.  But  Emmy 
was  keen  to  see,  and  she  herself  yearning  for  comfort. 
Little  by  little  she  told  the  great  fear  under  which  she 
lived. 

"But,  good  gracious  me!"  cried  Lady  de  Bohun, 
"Felicia  is  neither  in  Italy  nor  in  Egypt.  She's  in 
America.  When  she  made  such  a  fiasco  at  La  Poti- 
niere  she  accepted  an  offer  from  New  Orleans  or 
San  Francisco,  I  forget  which.  Gerald  Bertie  keeps 
track  of  her  and  told  me  so.  If  Dick  had  only  asked 
him,  he  would  have  been  saved  a  lot  of  time  and 
trouble." 

"Don't  tell  him,  Emmy,"  Petrina  pleaded. 

Emmy  did  not  tell  him,  but  perhaps  Gerald  Bertie 
did ;  for  before  Christmas  Lechmere  announced  to  Pe 
trina  his  intention  of  going  back  to  Boston. 

"I  have  ordered  the  house  at  Brookline  to  be  made 
ready  for  us,"  he  said.  "  I  think  you  will  like  it,  though 
it  hasn't  been  lived  in  for  years." 

"Do  you  mean  me  to  go,  too?"  asked  Petrina,  whose 
heart  seemed  paralyzed  at  the  first  words  of  his  an 
nouncement. 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

"I  think  it  would  be  better.  I  may  be  a  long  time 
over  there." 

"I  couldn't/'  she  said,  in  a  voice  so  dead  that  it  did 
not  reach  his  ear. 

Then  she  began  to  reflect.  After  all,  why  should 
she  not  go?  She  had  meant  never  to  return  to  America 
again,  or,  if  so,  not  till  many  years  had  gone  by.  But 
why?  she  asked.  If  Lechmere  went,  what  could  she 
gain  by  staying  behind  ?  If  he  meant  to  desert  her,  he 
would  not  have  asked  her  to  go.  He  could  easily  aban 
don  one  who  was  far  away;  with  one  who  was  near  at 
hand  and  under  his  roof  it  would  be  harder.  It  was 
true  that  she  would  run  the  risk  of  seeing  Vassall.  That, 
she  said,  must  be  as  it  fell  out.  She  told  herself  that 
she  would  do  her  utmost  to  avoid  him ;  and  yet,  at  the 
thought  that  any  chance  errand  might  bring  them 
face  to  face,  the  blood  mounted  warmly  to  the  cheek  that 
had  grown  pale. 

So  when  Lechmere  spoke  of  it  again  she  consented. 
With  the  decision  she  even  grew  more  cheerful.  As 
she  looked  out  at  the  brown  fields  and  the  leafless 
hedgerows,  it  was  with  a  new  leaping  of  the  heart  in 
the  thought  of  going  home.  It  was  not  home  in  the 
sense  of  the  hearth  and  the  household,  but  it  was  home 
in  the  sense  of  the  motherland  for  which  one  longs  in 
the  moment  of  fatigue  and  loneliness.  There  would  be 
no  loving  heart  to  greet  her,  nor  eager  hands  stretched 
out  to  hers;  but  there  would  be  the  low,  friendly  Mas 
sachusetts  shores  and  the  familiar  Boston  streets,  and, 
by-and-by,  the  consolation  of  immensity  and  peace  amid 
the  dear  New  Hampshire  hills.  Yes,  she  would  go. 
It  might  be  from  ill  to  worse,  but  it  would  at  least  be 
towards  home. 

382 


*  t 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  was  home.  Petrina  felt  it  so  from  the  first  hour 
at  the  Meerstead — the  old  Lechmere  place  on  the  up 
lands  behind  Brookline. 

The  house  had  long  been  uninhabited,  and  the  fur 
nishings  were  faded  and  old-fashioned;  but  the  rooms 
were  stately  and  cheerful  with  winter  sunshine.  The 
land  had  been  the  Lechmeres'  meerstead  from  very 
early  times  in  Boston.  It  had  been  at  first  a  farm; 
the  Lechmeres  themselves  were  farmers.  They  were 
a  dreamy,  fanatical  race,  but  at  the  same  time  thrifty ; 
and  as  Boston  grew  in  importance  they  increased  in 
wealth.  From  being  yeomen  they  became  gentlemen. 
To  their  farm  they  added  merchandise,  and  each  gen 
eration  made  some  advance  upon  the  last.  After  the 
Revolution  the  Lechmeres  of  his  day  replaced  the  farm 
house  by  a  colonial  mansion,  which,  in  turn,  about 
sixty  years  later,  gave  place  to  a  still  larger  dwelling, 
in  the  then-prevailing  taste  for  the  pseudo-classical. 
People  said  that  old  Richard  Lechmere  had  copied  the 
White  House  on  a  smaller  scale ;  but,  whether  this  was 
so  or  not,  the  long  building,  with  its  pillared  portico 
and  generous  steps,  produced  a  dignified  effect  as  seen 
on  the  summit  of  its  low,  well  -  timbered  hill.  The 
Lechmeres  had  held  tenaciously  to  the  Meerstead  when 
their  neighbors  had  long  ago  sold  their  lands  and 
moved  into  fine  town-houses  in  Boston.  What  was  at 
first  a  farm,  and  was  still  modestly  called  "  the  grounds," 
was  really  something  of  a  park,  with  nothing  of  the 

383 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

agricultural  except  the  meadows  and  large  gar 
dens. 

From  the  moment  of  arrival  Petrina  felt  that  she 
could  love  the  spot.  It  was  so  far  from  Boston — a 
long  hour's  drive — that  it  offered  her  seclusion;  and 
she  meant  to  live  there  as  a  solitary  nun  in  a  rather 
spacious  cloister. 

She  felt  the  more  able  to  do  so  from  the  fact  that 
Dick  seemed  happier.  Since  they  had  sailed  from 
England  the  darkest  shade  of  melancholy  had  lifted 
from  his  face,  and  there  were  times  when  he  was  cheer 
ful  in  a  simple,  natural  way,  which  made  Petrina  hope. 
To  be  at  the  Meerstead  again  had  a  good  effect  upon 
him.  Though  he  had  so  long  turned  his  back  on  the 
old  place,  and  affected  not  to  care  for  it,  yet  now  that 
he  was  there,  amid  the  memories  of  his  boyhood,  his 
heart  grew  lighter.  At  the  end  of  a  week  he  had  be 
come,  so  Petrina  thought,  more  healthily  minded.  Pie 
ceased  to  brood  in  silence,  and  when  he  talked  it  was 
no  longer  in  the  pessimistic  strain  which  at  first  had 
touched,  but  now  alarmed,  her.  He  interested  him 
self  in  the  commonplace  details  of  settling  into  a  house 
which  was  in  need  of  renovation,  and  took  pleasure 
in  his  plans  for  improving  the  neglected  grounds.  It 
was  late  in  February,  and  the  days  brought  with  them 
a  little  hint  of  spring.  Petrina  could  not  be  quite  in 
sensible  to  their  gladness,  and  found  herself  wonder 
ing  whether,  after  all,  the  flowers  might  not  bloom  for 
her  again.  She  would  keep  her  cloister  strictly,  so 
she  told  herself;  but  even  in  a  nunnery  there  are  in 
terests  which  make  the  days  pass  by  not  altogether 
sadly. 

If  only  Dick  would  cleave  to  her!  There  were  times 
when  she  thought  he  would;  there  were  others  when 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  her  installation  in  this  great  house 

384 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

was  only  a  handsome  preliminary  to  his  leaving  her. 
"He  wants  to  provide  for  me/'  she  would  say  to  her 
self;  but  when  she  saw  him  so  unfailingly  kind,  she 
would  try  to  thrust  such  fears  away.  They  never 
spoke  now  of  Felicia.  It  was  impossible  for  Petrina 
to  learn  whether  or  not  Lechmere  knew  of  his  former 
wife's  presence  in  America.  Petrina  could  only  watch 
him  closely,  and  try  to  interpret  signs  according  to 
their  most  probable  significance. 

During  the  first  week  at  the  Meerstead  it  was  a  com 
fort  to  her  that  he  never  left  her.  He  did  not  even  re 
ceive  letters  without  telling  her  the  contents.  When, 
therefore,  one  morning  he  informed  her  that  he  was 
going  to  drive  into  Boston  and  would  not  return  till 
evening,  she  was  suddenly  afraid. 

"Couldn't  one  of  the  men  go  for  you?"  she  asked, 
with  an  anxiety  impossible  to  conceal. 

"  Hardly,"  he  answered.  "  There  are  so  many  things 
to  order." 

"I  could  make  a  list  of  them  and  give  it  to  Jones. 
I'm  sure  he  could  be  trusted." 

"And  I'm  sure  I  can,"  Lechmere  insisted,  with  a 
smile.  It  was  his  new  smile — the  smile  of  cheerful 
sanity  which  she  had  remarked  of  late — and  so  she 
felt  slightly  reassured. 

She  let  him  go  without  further  protest,  but  her  in 
terest  in  that  day's  work  was  at  end.  They  were  still 
"settling"  the  house.  They  had  unpacked  and  dis 
tributed  such  objects  as  they  had  brought  from  abroad, 
and  were  now  occupied  in  arranging  the  family  por 
celain  and  plate  after  its  long  storage.  It  was  a  task 
in  which  she  delighted,  and,  at  the  moment  when  he 
spoke  to  her,  she  stood  holding  in  her  hands  a  large 
golden  bowl,  of  beautiful  design,  which  for  many  years 
had  been  one  of  the  Lechmere  treasures.  She  was  de- 

385 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

bating  as  to  where  to  put  it  so  as  to  make  it  show  to  the 
best  advantage.  But  with  Lechmere's  departure  she 
lost  heart.  She  placed  it  indifferently  on  a  table  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  then,  walking  to  a  window, 
watched  him  drive  down  the  long  avenue  towards  the 
town. 

She  continued  to  stand  there  even  when  the  cart  and 
its  occupant  had  disappeared  among  the  leafless  trees. 
She  was  vaguely  unhappy.  The  house 'seemed  all  at 
once  to  grow  larger  and  emptier.  When  she  turned 
from  the  window  her  surroundings  had  suddenly  be 
come  strange,  as  though  she  did  not  belong  among  them. 
She  had  a  return  of  the  fear  that  Lechmere  had  brought 
her  there  merely  to  establish  her  in  dignity  and  com 
fort,  and  that  the  thing  being  done,  he  had  gone,  to 
come  back  no  more. 

She  tried  to  laugh  at  her  dread  and  to  reason  it  down. 
She  took  up  the  golden  bowl  again  and  placed  it  now 
here,  now  there,  standing  back  to  get  the  effect.  But 
her  mind  was  not  on  the  task.  Wherever  she  put  the 
bowl  it  looked  awkward  and  as  though  made  of  brass. 
At  last  she  left  it  impatiently  on  a  table  in  a  corner, 
and  resolved  to  give  her  attention  to  the  rehanging  of 
the  pictures.  She  had  already  decided  to  put  the  Cop 
leys  together,  and  began  inspecting  them  with  critical 
attention.  But,  as  she  moved  from  one  to  another, 
they  seemed  to  spring  into  a  kind  of  life,  and  to  gaze 
at  her  as  though  asking  by  what  right  she  was  there. 
Old  Martha  Lechmere,  in  brown  satin  and  white  lace 
which  looked  as  though  you  could  pick  them  up,  had 
for  Petrina  an  expression  so  living  that  she  recoiled 
before  it.  Judge  Richard  Lechmere,  in  eighteenth- 
century  small-clothes  and  a  bonnet  like  the  poet  Cow- 
per's,  glanced  at  her  with  a  soft,  oblique  regard,  as 
though  Dick's  own  eyes  were  questioning  her.  She 

386 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

passed  hurriedly  on  to  Penelope  Lechmere,  a  prettily 
prim  young  lady  in  muslin  and  blue  ribboned  cap ;  but 
the  girl,  too,  had  the  Lechmere  eyes,  melancholy,  mys 
tical,  gentle,  and  disconcerting  in  their  very  steadi 
ness.  Even  though  it  was  a  sunny  morning,  Petrina 
had  a  strange  sense  of  being  surrounded  by  ghostly 
presences,  who  demanded  reproachfully  why  she  should 
come  to  disturb  the  possessions  that  had  once  been 
theirs. 

No,  she  would  leave  the  pictures  for  another  day, 
she  said.  Why  should  she  interfere  with  them  when 
perhaps  Dick  would  never  return?  The  idea  was  be 
coming  an  obsession,  and  she  tried  to  shake  it  off. 
She  turned  her  back  upon  the  Copleys  with  their  haunt 
ing  eyes,  and  went  slowly  down  the  room,  endeavoring 
to  fix  her  attention  on  something  else.  At  a  window 
looking  to  the  eastward  she  paused  and  gazed  absently 
outward.  Far  away,  over  miles  of  undulating  winter 
landscape,  two  slim  spires  stood  out  against  the  sky. 
They  were  the  spires  of  Old  Cambridge;  Lechmere  had 
told  her  so  one  day,  and  since  then  she  never  saw  them 
without  thinking  of  Harry  Vassall.  There  were  many 
questions  concerning  him  to  which  she  would  have  been 
glad  to  know  the  answer.  Had  he  heard  that  she  had 
returned?  Would  he  shrink  from  meeting  her?  Did 
she  shrink  from  meeting  him?  If  they  were  to  meet, 
how  should  they  greet  each  other?  Would  he  be  mer 
ciful?  Should  she  be  able  to  keep  her  self-control? 

She  was  still  pondering  these  things  when  a  sound 
of  carriage-wheels  arrested  her  attention.  The  thought 
that  some  old,  unwelcome  friend  was  coming  to  break 
in  on  her  seclusion  angered  her.  The  solitude  which 
was  terrible  abroad  was  sweet  now  that  she  was  in 
Massachusetts.  She  remained  at  the  window  listen 
ing,  while  the  door  was  opened  and  some  one  entered. 

387 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Mrs.  Vassall,"  the  servant  announced. 

Petrina  turned  and,  seeing  the  small  figure  in  black 
hesitating  on  the  threshold,  her  annoyance  melted  into 
pleasure.  It  could  not  but  be  a  pleasure  mingled  with 
embarrassment,  and  after  the  first  greetings  were  over 
both  women  were  confused.  Petrina  led  her  guest  to 
a  sofa,  where  they  sat  down  side  by  side,  but  turning 
towards  each  other,  as  on  the  day  when  they  first  met. 
As  Mrs.  Vassall  raised  her  black  veil  it  was  evident 
that  she  had  grown  to  look  much  older,  though  the  ex 
citement  of  the  moment  had  brought  to  her  white,  wax- 
like  cheeks  a  faint  touch  of  red. 

"I  hope  Mr.  Lechmere  isn't  here?"  Mrs.  Vassall  be 
gan,  tremulously. 

"He  has  gone  in  to  Boston,"  Petrina  replied,  taking 
the  elder  woman's  hand.  "  He  will  not  be  back  till 
evening." 

"You  mustn't  think  it  strange  that  I  have  asked 
that  question,"  Mrs.  Vassall  went  on,  nervously.  "  I 
have  come  on  a  very  special  errand." 

"And  to  give  me  a  very  special  pleasure,"  said  Pe 
trina,  trying  to  carry  off  her  confusion  by  seeming  at 
her  ease. 

"I  should  have  come  before,  dear  Petrina,  if  I  had 
known  that  you  would  have  liked  it.  I  hesitated  only 
because — " 

"I  hope  you  will  never  hesitate  again.  It  is  easier 
for  you  to  come  to  me  than  for  me  to  go  to  you." 

At  this  allusion  the  color  in  Mrs.  Vassall's  face  be 
came  hectic,  and  she  grew  more  nervous  than  before. 

"  What  has  brought  me  is  this,"  she  began,  brusquely. 
"  A  few  days  ago  a  foreign  woman  came  to  see  me  who 
said  she  was  Mr.  Lechmere's —  But  what's  the  mat 
ter,  dear?  You're  not  well.  Let  me  ring  for  some 
one." 

388 


Let    Not    Man    Put    Asunder 

"No,  no,"  Petrina  managed  to  say,  gently  forcing 
Mrs.  Vassall  back  into  her  seat.  "Please  go  on.  I 
felt  rather  faint  for  a  minute,  but  it's  over.  Please 
go  on.  Some  one  came  to  see  you,  I  think  you 
said?" 

"Yes,  a  foreign  woman.  She  said  she  was  the  per 
son  Mr.  Lechmere  married  some  years  ago." 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  during  which  they  sat 
gazing  into  each  other's  eyes.  Petrina  felt  as  if  the 
first  distant  sound  of  the  trumpet  of  judgment  were 
stealing  on  the  world.  But  she  nerved  herself  to  hear 
what  must  be  heard,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  calmly. 

"Yes?"  she  said,  still  holding  the  other's  hand.  "  And 
what  then,  dear  Mrs.  Vassall?" 

"I  didn't  believe  her." 

"Oh!" 

"  I  couldn't.  She  was  such  a  very  common  person — 
not  at  all  a  lady." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  gave  her  some  money,  and  took  her  address." 

"You  gave  her — ?"  Petrina  began  in  amazement. 

"  Some  money.  Oh,  not  much,  dear — just  enough  to 
carry  her  over  a  few  days." 

"And  she  took  it?" 

"You  see,  she  was  so  poor,"  Mrs.  Vassall  explained, 
as  if  to  justify  her  action,  "and  so  ill.  I've  no  doubt 
that  the  story  she  told  me  wasn't  true,  but  I  couldn't 
send  her  away  without  doing  something.  Even  though 
I  didn't  believe  her  I  cried  when  she  told  me  her  tale. 
It  was  so  pitiful." 

"What  tale?  You  see  I  know  nothing  about  it.  Do 
tell  me  what  she  said." 

"I  knew  you'd  be  interested,  dear,  and  perhaps  we 
can  help  her  together.  I  know  a  very  nice  Home  where 
I  think  they'd  take  her.  There's  a  Miss  Magill  at  the 

389 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

head  of  it — such  a  wise  person — who  has  had  great  ex 
perience  with  women  of  that  class." 

"Women  of  what  class?  Do  tell  me  quickly.  I'm 
keenly  anxious  to  hear  about  her.  What  did  she  say? 
Why  did  she  go  to  see  you?" 

"I  couldn't  quite  make  out;  she  rambled  so.  She 
spoke  of  you  and  Mr.  Lechmere  and  Harry  and  Emmy, 
and  mixed  you  all  up  together  in  such  a  way  that  I 
couldn't  tell  what  she  meant.  She  said  over  and  over 
again  that  she  was  Mr.  Lechmere's  wife,  and  so  seemed 
to  think  she  had  some  claim  on  me." 

"Mr.  Lechmere  was  married  at  one  time  to  Madame 
Felicia  de  Prony,  who  used  to  be  a  singer  of  some  re 
nown." 

"I  knew  that.     This  woman  said  it  was  her  name." 

"Did  you  tell — your  son?" 

"Yes,  but  he  said  he  didn't  understand  how  it  could 
possibly  be  she." 

"  Nor  do  I.     He  didn't  see  her,  then?" 

"No;  he  went  yesterday  to  the  address  she  gave — 
a  very  ordinary  kind  of  lodging-house — but  she  had 
gone." 

"Then  how  do  you  propose  to  help  her?" 

"  She  will  probably  come  back  to  me  again  when  she 
has  spent  the  money  I  gave  her.  I  thought  her  a  very 
unpractical  person.  She  wanted  to  use  some  of  it  to 
have  her  photograph  taken.  She  said  it  would  help 
her  to  get  a  position  in  a  theatre." 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  could  be  Madame  de  Prony.  When 
I  last  heard  of  her  she  was  in  such  a  different  situation." 

"Was  it  with  an  Armenian  carpet-merchant?" 

The  suddenness  of  this  question  coming  from  Mrs. 
Vassall  almost  made  Petrina  smile. 

"I  think  it  was,"  she  admitted.  "Emmy  saw  her 
with  him  at  Homburg." 

390 


Let  Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

"Oh,  the  poor  thing  told  me  all  about  him — such  a 
sad  story.  She  had  gone  into  his  family  as  companion, 
she  said,  though  I  didn't  understand  to  whom.  He 
called  himself  a  Russian  prince,  but  she  learned  that 
he  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  When  she  would  have 
exposed  him  he  treated  her  shamefully.  He  even  beat 
her  and  robbed  her  of  her  jewels.  In  Paris  he  left 
her  without  a  word  or  a  penny.  She  was  reduced  to 
such  straits  that  she  was  obliged  to  sing  in  some  very 
low  place,  where  the  men  smoked  and  drank  during 
the  performance.  This  made  her  ill  and  she  had  to 
give  up  the  position.  Then  some  gentleman — a  mana 
ger  she  called  him — brought  her  to  America  a  few 
months  ago.  She  was  to  sing  and  dance  in  comic  plays  ; 
but  she  couldn't ;  she  was  too  ill.  You  can  see  that  by 
looking  at  her.  In  San  Francisco  she  had  to  give  up 
the  attempt,  and  then  with  nearly  all  her  money  gone 
she  struggled  back  to  the  East  again.  I  don't  know 
how  she  knew  about  me ;  she  talked  incoherently  about 
other  actors  and  actresses  who  had  given  her  the  in 
formation." 

"  Did  she  know  that  Mr.  Lechmere  and  I  had  returned 
to  this  country?" 

Petrina  put  the  question  boldly,  but  she  felt  that  all 
her  future  life  depended  on  the  answer. 

"  She  seemed  to  have  heard  something  of  the  sort,  but 
I  didn't  tell  her  anything  decisive.  I  was  afraid  she 
might  come  here  and  annoy  you.  You  see,  I  didn't 
believe  that  she  could  be  the  person  she  called  herself, 
and  so  I  was  careful  about  what  I  said.  She  asked 
me  where  Mr.  Lechmere  lived  when  he  was  in  Boston, 
and  how  she  could  find  him.  Of  course  I  didn't  tell 
her." 

"  What  did  she  look  like?"  Petrina  inquired,  abruptly. 

"Like  a  dying  woman." 

391 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

Petrina  started.  The  answer  recalled  Lady  de  Bo- 
hun's  words  of  several  months  before. 

"I  don't  mean  that,  Mrs.  Vassall,"  she  corrected.  "I 
mean  her  features  and  air.  Was  she  beautiful?" 

"  You  could  see  that  she  had  been  so,  though  she  was 
too  thin  and  white  and  worn  to  have  much  beauty  left. 
She  had  lovely  fair  hair,  and  large,  soft,  blue  eyes.  There 
was  a  refinement  about  her  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she 
was  not  a  lady.  I  can't  describe  her ;  she  was  too  unlike 
any  kind  of  woman  with  whom  I  have  ever  had  to  do. 
She  seemed  to  know  more  about  the  luxuries  of  life  than 
its  necessaries.  There  was  something  of  the  fallen 
princess  about  her — I  mean,"  Mrs.  Vassall  added,  softly, 
"  the  princess  who  has  fallen  very,  very  low.  I  couldn't 
believe  her,  and  yet — and  yet — " 

"And  yet,"  Petrina  finished,  "she  didn't  seem  like 
an  impostor." 

"That  is  it.  I  couldn't  believe  that  a  woman  who 
had  held  her  position  and  been  Mr.  Lechmere's  wife 
could  have  come  to  such  awful  want." 

"Isn't  it  only  the  old  story  of  La  Cigale?" 

"Then  you  think  it  may  be  she?" 

"Of  course  I  couldn't  say  that,"  Petrina  replied, 
warily. 

"But  whoever  she  is,  don't  you  think  we  ought  to 
help  her  if  we  can?" 

"If  we  can." 

"And  perhaps  Mr.  Lechmere  might  do  something  if 
he  knew." 

"I'd  rather  he  didn't  know." 

"It  is  naturally  a  delicate  matter." 

Petrina  sat  awhile  in  thought.  No  one  would  have 
guessed  from  her  calm  exterior  how  desperate  she  felt. 
To  get  rid  of  Felicia  at  any  cost  was  the  only  expedi 
ent  she  could  think  of. 

392 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"If  you  could  find  this  woman,  dear  Mrs.  Vassall/' 
she  began,  slowly,  "  I  should  be  willing  to  do  anything 
in  my  power  to  aid  her.  I  should  spare  neither  care 
nor  money  to  keep  her  from  want.  I  should  be  willing 
to  give  her  a  large  income  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  I 
should  do  anything,  anything,  to  get  her  to  go  away 
and  to  keep  her  from — from  troubling  Mr.  Lechmere." 

"I  understand  that,  dear,"  said  the  little  woman, 
sadly.  "If  I  can  help  you,  I  will." 

"Mr.  Lechmere  has  suffered  much  on  her  account. 
I  don't  want  him  to  suffer  more." 

"Then  you  do  think  it  is  she?" 

"Perhaps.  In  any  case,  if  you  or  Harry — I  mean 
Mr.  Vassall — can  find  her,  spend  any  sum,  however 
large,  to  feed  and  clothe  and  provide  for  her ;  only  send 
her  away." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  look  of  beseeching  in 
Petrina's  eyes,  though  she  tried  to  speak  steadily  and 
to  keep  the  ring  of  appeal  from  her  voice.  She  would 
not  have  any  one  suspect  that  she  did  not  feel  herself 
mistress  of  the  situation. 

"Poor  dear!"  murmured  Mrs.  Vassall,  the  tears 
starting  to  her  eyes.  "I  understand  how  you  feel. 
You  must  love  him  so!" 

"It  isn't  that,"  Petrina  stammered,  coloring. 

"  If  only  you  and  he  had  known  each  other  before  he 
met  this  dreadful  woman,  and  before  you  and  Harry — " 

"It  isn't  that,"  Petrina  repeated,  painfulty.  "Oh, 
Mrs.  Vassall,"  she  burst  out  suddenly,  "life  is  so  hard! 
I  didn't  know  it  was  possible  to  make  such  mistakes. 
I've  been  very  foolish.  I've  tangled  myself  up  in  an 
awful  web  of  circumstance,  and  now  I  can  neither  stay 
in  it  nor  get  out.  I've  been  like  a  person  running  through 
a  quagmire;  with  every  struggle  to  free  myself  I've 
sunk  deeper  in.  What  am  I  to  do?" 

393 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

She  checked  herself  again.  She  would  not  ask  for 
pity. 

"But  we  won't  talk  of  my  affairs,"  she  said,  with  a 
forced  smile.  "Tell  me  about  yourself.  How  have 
you  been  all  winter?  Have  you  heard  from  Emmy 
within  the  last  few  days?  I  saw  her  just  before  we 
sailed." 

Then  she  brought  out  her  scraps  of  news,  and  tried 
to  talk  as  if  she  were  not  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

"Dick  has  gone  to  her,"  was  the  thought  ringing  in 
her  mind.  "  He  is  with  her  now.  Oh,  my  God,  what 
am  I  to  do?  I  am  a  nameless,  repudiated  woman." 

Yet  she  talked  on,  not  cheerfully,  but  with  well-feigned 
serenity,  until  Mrs.  Vassall  rose  to  go.  Then,  for  an 
instant,  Petrina's  reserve  broke  down  again. 

"How  good  you  are  to  me!"  she  cried,  when  they 
stood  at  the  door  and  had  already  said  good-bye.  "I 
wish  you  weren't  going.  I  don't  want  to  be  left  alone. 
I  feel  sure  that  something  dreadful  is  going  to  happen, 
and  I'm  afraid." 

"If  ever  you  want  me  I  will  come  instantly.  You 
will  only  have  to  speak  the  word." 

"  I  oughtn't  to  trouble  you,  but  there's  no  one  who 
seems  so  near  to  me  as  you.  I'm  so  foolishly  weak  that 
I  want  some  one's  hand  to  cling  to,  and  I  don't  know 
any  but  yours.  You'll  forgive  me  for  all  the  unhappi- 
ness  I've  brought  upon  you,  won't  you?  I  need  the 
forgiveness  of  others  also,  but  I  dare  not  ask  for  any 
one's  but  yours.  You're  so  good!" 

"  Not  good,  dear,  but  only  made  sympathetic  through 
suffering." 

"And  so  strong." 

"No,  nor  strong,  but  only  upheld  by  the  everlasting 
arms.  They  are  about  you,  too,  dear,  if  you  could  only 
feel  them." 

394 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"But  I  can't." 

"For  all  that  they  will  not  be  withdrawn." 

They  kissed  each  other  again,   and  Mrs.    Vassall 

went  away.     She  drove  straight  to  her  son's  office  to 

send  him  in  immediate  search  of  "the  foreign  woman." 

Then  she  returned  home  to  pass  the  afternoon  in  prayer. 


CHAPTER  V 

LEFT  alone,  Petrina  waited,  almost  paralyzed  by 
fear.  "  Will  he  come  back,  or  will  he  not?"  She  could 
think  of  nothing  else ;  she  could  ask  no  other  question. 
She  sat  in  the  big,  lonely  drawing-room,  with  the  soft 
eyes  of  the  Copley  portraits  looking  down  at  her,  but 
she  no  longer  shivered  at  their  regard.  She  was  in 
different  to  everything  but  that  which  Fate  might  have 
in  immediate  store.  In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  dull 
clouds  came  up;  the  wind  blew  hard,  and  it  began  to 
snow.  "If  he  is  coming,  he  will  come  now,"  Petrina 
thought,  looking  out  over  the  landscape,  on  which  the 
new-fallen  flakes  were  making  little  drifts  of  whiteness. 

Just  before  it  grew  dark  there  was  a  loud  ring  at  the 
door.  Petrina  listened.  A  minute  later  a  telegram 
was  brought  to  her.  "  I  know  its  contents  in  advance," 
she  thought  as  she  took  it  from  the  salver.  "  It  is  his 
farewell."  But  she  was  wrong.  It  was  only  a  pro 
saic  message  to  say  that  he  had  been  detained  longer 
than  he  had  expected,  and  would  not  return  till  late 
in  the  evening.  She  was  to  dine  without  him. 

The  intelligence  that  he  would  return  at  all  produced 
a  reaction  so  great  that  she  could  scarcely  hold  herself 
back  from  bursting  into  tears  of  joy.  But  she  was  be 
ing  schooled  to  self-command,  and  gave  no  other  sign 
of  relief  than  a  renewal  of  the  task,  interrupted  in  the 
morning,  of  arranging  the  drawing-room.  She  set  her 
self  to  work  again  with  buoyancy  in  her  gait  and  cheer 
fulness  in  her  expression.  She  felt  like  a  reprieved 

396 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

prisoner.  All  danger  was  not  passed,  but  the  actual 
moment  at  least  seemed  secure.  She  took  up  the  golden 
bowl  again,  and  found  a  place  for  it.  She  reviewed  the 
Copleys  once  more  and  settled  just  where  they  were  to 
be  rehung.  It  was  her  nature  to  rebound  from  anxiety 
the  moment  the  strain  became  a  little  lighter.  Evening 
found  her  determined  to  make  another  effort.  If  he 
came  to  her  from  seeing  the  poor,  sick  creature  Mrs. 
Vassall  had  described,  he  should  find  himself  dazzled 
by  the  health  and  beauty  waiting  for  him  at  home. 
Petrina  had  never  tried  to  hold  him  by  coquetry  or  art, 
but  she  could  command  them,  and  would  do  it  now. 
So  she  dressed  herself  all  in  the  soft,  trailing,  span 
gled  black  in  which  she  knew  she  looked  her  best. 
She  put  diamond  stars  on  her  breast,  and  clasped  a 
diamond  collar  about  her  neck.  As  she  looked  in  the 
mirror  her  eye  flashed  with  admiration  of  her  own  com 
pleteness.  "And,"  she  thought,  with  an  astonishment 
that  brought  the  warm  color  to  her  cheek,  "it  is  for  a 
dying  courtesan  that  he  would  reject  such  a  woman 
as  I." 

She  dined  late  and  alone.  As  she  rose  from  the 
table  and  swept  into  the  hall,  there  was  something 
regal  about  her.  But  she  stopped  suddenly  and  shiv 
ered.  The  outer  door  was  open,  and  a  cutting  wind 
was  driving  in.  Two  servants  were  whispering  at  the 
door,  evidently  refusing  to  admit  some  one  who  was 
outside. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  sharply,  going  down  the 
hall.  "What  is  the  matter?" 

"There  is  a  person  here — " 

The  footman  was  not  allowed  to  continue.  Petrina 
herself  was  at  the  door.  She  and  Felicia  de  Prony 
stood  again  face  to  face. 

It  was  snowing  hard,  and  the  night  was  cold.  The 

397 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

singer,  lightly  clad,  stood  between  the  great  white  pil 
lars  of  the  portico.  It  was  La  Cigale  to  the  life. 

The  shock  of  meeting  was  so  great  that  for  a  mo 
ment  neither  woman  spoke.  Petrina  stood  as  in  a 
dream.  She  remarked,  almost  unconsciously,  the 
whiteness  of  the  face  and  the  supplication  of  the  soft, 
blue  eyes  that  looked  in  at  her.  This  did  not  seem 
a  rival,  but  only  a  worn-out,  dying  woman,  asking 
shelter  from  the  cold. 

"  Will  you  let  me  come  in?" 

The  words  were  spoken  with  a  foreign  accent.  The 
voice  was  piteous  and  weak. 

"No,"  said  Petrina,  firmly.  "You  have  no  right 
here.  Go  away." 

"I  can't,"  came  the  reply,  faintly.  "I  have  no  place 
to  go.  I  have  walked  all  the  way  from  Boston.  I  have 
eaten  nothing  since  morning.  Please  let  me  come  in." 

"Go  away;  go  away,"  Petrina  insisted. 

"I  am  so  cold." 

"Go  away;  go  away." 

"This  is  my  husband's  house.     Let  me  come  in." 

Petrina  was  mad  with  fear.  If  Lechmere  were  to 
come,  all  would  be  lost. 

"Go  away,"  she  repeated.  "You  will  never  come 
in  here — never — never." 

The  woman  staggered  back  against  a  pillar. 

"I  know  I  haven't  any  right,"  she  pleaded.  "I've 
been  a  bad  woman.  But  I'm  so  cold  and  sick." 

"Go,  go,  go!"  cried  Petrina,  wildly,  and  closed  the 
door. 

A  weak  wail  like  a  baby's  came  from  outside,  but 
Petrina  fled  from  its  sound. 

The  servants  were  gone.  She  was  alone.  Was  the 
woman  still  at  the  door?  Would  she  stay  there?  Pe 
trina  ran  to  the  window  of  a  dark  room  and  looked 

398 


Let   Not  Man   Put   Asunder 

out.  A 'convulsive  sob  rose  to  her  throat.  Felicia  had 
turned  away.  Her  dark  figure  could  be  seen  slowly 
going  down  the  steps.  The  wind  blew  her  thin  cloak 
around  her.  When  she  reached  the  snow  she  shrank 
back  and  almost  fell.  But  she  staggered  on,  dragging 
herself  painfully.  Petrina,  racked  by  tearless  sobs, 
continued  looking  out.  Felicia  began  to  descend  the 
avenue,  between  the  leafless  trees.  Each  time  she  tot 
tered  Petrina  stifled  a  moan  of  horror.  At  last  she 
could  bear  no  more. 

"I  must  bring  her  back,  I  must  bring  her  back,"  she 
cried,  and  sprang  from  the  window. 

She  did  not  stop  to  consider  what  she  should  do.  She 
was  beyond  all  control  of  reason.  She  flung  open  the 
hall  door  and  rushed  out  into  the  snow  calling,  "  Felicia! 
Felicia!  Felicia!" 

The  wind  caught  her  voice  and  carried  it  away.  The 
dark  figure,  struggling  on  amid  the  snow-drifts,  did 
not  turn. 

"Felicia!  Felicia!"  Petrina  called  again,  as  she,  too, 
toiled  on.  The  snow  beat  upon  her  uncovered  shoul 
ders;  the  wind  tore  at  her  hair;  the  diamonds  around 
her  neck  became  like  points  of  ice.  But  she  heeded 
nothing  in  her  desire  to  reach  the  frail  creature,  stag 
gering  on  blindly  through  the  storm. 

Then  Petrina  uttered  a  loud  cry.  Felicia  fell  and 
did  not  rise  again.  What  did  it  mean?  Was  it  a 
faint?  Or  was  it  death?  She  called  no  more.  She 
herself  was  growing  weak;  but  she  battled  on,  with 
the  one  thought  of  reaching  the  dark  spot  lying  in  the 
middle  of  the  white  roadway.  It  was  not  far,  but  it 
took  her  long. 

"Felicia!  Felicia!"  she  cried  as  she  drew  near;  but 
there  was  no  reply. 

The  woman  was  lying  face  downwards.  Even  in 

399 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

those  few  minutes  the  snow  had  already  begun  drifting 
over  her.  Petrina  sank  down  beside  her,  and  lifted 
her  in  her  arms. 

"Felicia!  Felicia!"  she  murmured.  "It  is  I — Pe 
trina.  I  want  to  take  you  back." 

The  woman  moaned  when  she  was  moved,  but  did 
not  open  her  eyes.  At  least  she  was  living,  and  that 
was  much.  Petrina  tried  to  lift  her,  but  found  she  had 
not  the  strength.  She  was  desperate. 

"Oh,  wake  up,  wake  up!"  she  pleaded.  "Can't  you 
stand?  Can't  you  do  anything?  I  want  to  take  you 
back." 

Again  the  woman  only  moaned,  as  Petrina  put  forth 
all  her  strength  to  raise  her. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  Petrina  cried,  helplessly.  She 
looked  up  at  the  house  where  the  lights  were  burning 
cheerfully,  but  no  one  seemed  to  know  that  she  had  gone 
outside.  She  called  for  help,  but  her  voice  could  not 
surmount  the  surging  of  the  wind  among  the  trees.  She 
sank  again  into  the  snow,  with  the  head  of  the  uncon 
scious  woman  in  her  lap. 

Still  indifferent  to  her  own  exposure,  Petrina  began 
to  chafe  Felicia's  hands,  and  use  such  other  means  as 
she  knew,  for  bringing  her  back  to  life  again;  but  be 
yond  an  intermittent  moan  there  was  no  result. 

She  called  again  more  loudly  than  before,  but  the  cry 
only  passed  away  on  the  wind  like  a  troubled  spirit's 
wail. 

"I  can't  leave  her  here,"  she  said  to  herself.  "She 
might  die  while  I  was  running  for  aid.  I  must  drag 
her  there." 

She  rose  again  and  put  forth  all  her  strength,  but 
uselessly.  The  dead  weight  of  the  woman  was  too 
much,  and,  after  a  few  steps,  Petrina  dropped  breath 
less  beside  her  charge.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  the 

400 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

cold  herself.  When  her  mind  awaked  to  it  she  found  it 
terrible. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?"  she  moaned, 
as  she  chafed  Felicia's  inert  hands. 

Just  then  she  saw  two  lights  approaching,  far  down 
the  avenue. 

"Dick!"  she  cried.     "Dick!" 

She  scarcely  knew  whether  she  was  glad  or  sorry. 
It  was  enough  for  the  moment  that  he  should  be  coming. 
Her  effort  to  drag  Felicia  had  removed  them  from  the 
centre  of  the  road  to  the  side,  and  they  were  thus  in  no 
danger  of  being  trodden  on.  She  sat  quite  still,  chafing 
all  the  while  Felicia's  hands,  and  watching  the  carriage 
lamps,  like  two  eyes  of  red  fire,  grow  larger  and  nearer. 
Presently  their  light  lit  up  the  roadside ;  now  it  was  on 
themselves. 

"Dick!  Dick!"  she  cried,  but  again  her  voice  made 
but  a  feeble  sound  against  the  soughing  wind. 

The  horse  shied  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  strange 
group  in  the  snow. 

"Dick!  Dick!"  she  cried  again,  and  this  time  he 
heard. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  quickly.     "Who's  there?" 

He  stopped  the  horse  and  peered  towards  the  roadside. 

"My  God!"  he  cried,  when  he  saw  Petrina  crouching 
in  the  show.  He  threw  the  reins  to  the  servant  who 
was  with  him,  and  leaped  to  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  Dick !     Oh,  Dick !"  was  all  she  could  say. 

"What  is  it,  Petrina?  What  are  you  doing  there? 
What's  that  in  your  lap?  Is  it  a  woman?  Is  it  a  man?' 

"Stoop  and  see,  Dick." 

The  horse  turned  slightly  so  that  the  full  light  of  a 

carriage  lamp  fell  on  the  women.     Lechmere  stooped. 

The  sight  of  the  one  wife  with  her  head  pillowed  in  the 

lap  of  the  other  seemed  too  much  for  his  senses  to  take 

2c  401 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

in.  For  a  long  second  he  stood  as  one  dazed ;  and  then, 
with  a  loud  cry,  he,  too,  sank  beside  them  in  the  snow. 

"0  my  beloved!  0  my  beloved!"  he  cried,  clasping 
Felicia  in  his  arms.  "I've  found  you  at  last.  You 
were  coming  to  me.  You  were  coming  home." 

He  kissed  her  cold  lips  passionately,  and  the  woman 
moaned  again. 

It  was  Petrina  who  recovered  herself  first. 

"We  must  not  stay  here,"  she  said,  with  a  quietness 
in  strange  contrast  with  her  excitement  of  a  few  min 
utes  before.  "We  must  take  her  in.  Get  up,  Dick. 
You  must  lift  her  into  the  carriage.  I  will  get  in  and 
hold  her.  You  and  the  man  can  walk." 

All  at  once  she  found  herself  calm.  Dick  and  Felicia 
had  met,  and  the  worst  was  over.  For  anything  there 
might  be  to  come  she  felt  the  supreme  courage  of  de 
spair. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  Petrina  herself  who,  with  the  aid  of  two  of 
the  women  of  the  house,  undressed  Felicia  and  laid  her 
in  a  bed.  Petrina  had  some  knowledge  of  nursing,  and 
her  alert  common-sense  suggested  simple  aids.  Before 
the  doctor  came  she  had  restored  Felicia  to  conscious 
ness,  and  had  given  her  food  and  brandy. 

"Go  and  tell  Mr.  Lechmere  to  come/'  she  whispered 
to  one  of  the  women.  When  he  arrived  she  sent  both 
the  servants  from  the  room,  while  she  stood  back  from 
the  bed.  Felicia,  for  the  moment,  was  lying  warm  and 
still.  The  stimulant  had  brought  a  slight  flush  to  her 
thin  cheek.  Lechmere,  not  to  startle  her,  stood  at  a 
distance.  She  opened  her  eyes  and  closed  them  again. 
She  was  like  a  child  that  has  just  waked  from  sleep 
and  lies  a  minute  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  his  physical 
well-being.  Petrina  kept  back  in  the  shadow.  Lech 
mere  crept  forward  on  tip-toe,  inch  by  inch. 

Felicia  opened  her  eyes  again  and  looked  around 
her.  There  was  no  surprise  or  wonder  in  her  gaze. 
She  seemed  satisfied  to  have  found  warmth  and  com 
fort.  Lechmere  grew  bolder,  and  stood  forward  in  the 
light.  When  her  eyes  fell  upon  him  a  half-smile  flick 
ered  about  her  lips. 

"Tiens!  C'est  toi?"  she  said,  carelessly  as  if  she 
had  seen  him  yesterday.  " D'ou  viens-tu?" 

Lechmere  knelt  down  beside  the  bed,  and,  taking  the 
thin  hand  that  lay  outside  the  coverlet,  pressed  it  to  his 
lips. 

403 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Don't  excite  her/'  Petrina  whispered,  but  the  sound 
caught  Felicia's  ear. 

"Is  there  any  one  there?"  she  asked,  brusquely, 
turning  her  head  towards  the  corner  where  Petrina 
stood. 

"Only  some  one  who  will  take  care  of  you,  darling," 
Lechmere  replied. 

"Let  me  see  her,"  Felicia  demanded. 

"Not  now;  when  you  are  stronger." 

"Let  me  see  her,  I  tell  you,"  Felicia  insisted,  speak 
ing  in  the  loud,  coarse  voice  of  the  French  actress, 
liable  to  sudden  rage.  "  I  will  see  her.  I  will  have  no 
people  hiding  in  the  corners  of  my  room." 

It  was  better  to  appease  her.  Petrina  came  slowly 
forward  to  the  light  and  stood  beside  the  bed.  She 
was  still  in  the  shimmering  black  dinner-dress.  The 
diamond  stars  were  blazing  on  her  breast  and  the  collar 
about  her  neck.  Since  they  had  borne  their  burden 
into  the  house  she  had  had  no  time  to  think  of  herself. 
Besides,  she  was  very  strong.  She  knew  the  exposure 
of  the  storm  would  do  her  no  great  harm.  She  and 
Felicia  looked  at  one  another. 

"I  remember  her,"  the  Frenchwoman  said,  quietly. 
"  I've  seen  her  somewhere  before.  Let  me  see.  Wasn't 
it  in  London?  Yes,  yes;  with  Lady  de  Bohun.  You 
remember  her,  don't  you,  Dick?  a  little  woman,  pas 
laide ;  Humphrey  de  Bohun's  wife.  Quel  noceur  que 
cet  Humphrey!  C'est  lui  qui  m'a  donne  mon  collier 
de  saphirs,  apres  une  petite  noce  chez — " 

"Hush,  dear,  hush,"  Lechmere  whispered.  "Let  us 
not  talk  of  those  things." 

"Ah  oui,"  Felicia  went  on,  looking  up  at  Petrina.  "  I 
remember.  It  was  she  who  drove  me  from  your  door 
this  afternoon.  You  didn't  know  that,  did  you,  Dick? 
I  was  cold — oh,  so  cold!  so  cold!  But  she  wouldn't 

404 


Let   Not   Man  Put   Asunder 

let  me  enter.     She  said,  'Go,  go,  go!'  and  shut  the 
door  upon  me." 

"Is  this  true?"  Lechmere  asked,  glancing  up  keenly 
at  Petrina. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quietly,  returning  his  gaze. 

"You  turned  away — my  wife?" 

Petrina  blanched  at  the  word,  and  hesitated. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Into  the  snow?" 

"Yes." 

"To  die?" 

Petrina  hesitated  again. 

"Yes,"  she  forced  herself  to  say. 

"Eh  bienl  Tu  vois?"  said  Felicia,  with  a  little  air 
of  triumph.  " Quelle  gueuse,  n'est-ce  pas?  Et  tu  vas 
garder  qa  ?  Mais  non,  Dick,  non.  II  faut  qu'elle  fiche 
le  camp,  et  bien  vite.  C'est  moi  qui  te  le  dis." 

Petrina  turned  away  slowly  and  withdrew  into  the 
shadow  of  the  room.  She  felt  no  resentment  against 
this  poor,  pitiful  woman.  As  to  Lechmere,  all  her  feeling 
had  died  out.  If  she  was  conscious  of  anything,  it  was 
of  a  wild  satisfaction  that  the  tie  by  which  she  had  at 
tached  herself  had  been  broken  by  main  force.  The 
mockery  of  the  marriage  between  herself  and  him  was 
at  an  end.  She  had  tried  to  be  true  to  it,  but  now  she 
need  try  no  more.  This  woman  had  come,  and  he  had 
claimed  her.  He  had  called  her  his  wife.  Be  it  so. 
She,  Petrina,  would  call  Harry  Vassall  husband.  Clear 
er  now  than  at  any  moment  since  she  had  owned  her 
love  for  him,  she  knew  how  strong  the  bond  between 
them  was.  So  she  stood  back  in  the  shadow,  listening 
indifferently  to  the  broken  whispers  which  reached  her 
from  the  bedside.  Felicia  was  half  delirious  from  weak 
ness,  Lechmere  from  joy.  They  either  ignored  her 
presence  or  forgot  that  she  was  there. 

405 


Let    Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"Who  is  this  woman,  Dick?"  Petrina  heard  Felicia 
ask. 

"A  friend,  dearest,"  Lechmere  replied.  "But  let  us 
not  talk  of  her.  Tell  me  about  yourself." 

"  But  her  name?     What  is  her  name?" 

"Why  should  you  ask,  my  beloved?  Are  we  not 
together?  Isn't  that  enough?" 

"Ah!  It  comes  back  to  me.  She  is  that  Madame 
Vassall,  is  she  not?" 

"Yes,  dear.     But—" 

"She  is  not  your  wife?" 

"Don't  let  us  talk  about  other  people,  darling.  Let 
us  think  only  about  ourselves." 

"She  is  not  your  wife?  Say  so.  Elle  nest  pas  ta 
femme?" 

She  grew  excited,  and  tossed  her  head  wildly  from 
side  to  side.  The  fair  hair,  her  one  remaining  glory, 
slipped  from  its  coil,  and  fell  in  disordered,  wavy  masses 
on  the  pillow. 

"Don't,  dear,  don't,"  Lechmere  began  soothingly; 
but  she  started  up  with  a  quick,  angry  scream. 

" Oui ;  elle  est  ta  femme!"  she  cried,  gnashing  her 
teeth  upon  the  words.  "  She  is  your  wife !  She  is  your 
wife!  You  will  not  say  rio!"  she  screamed  again, 
writhing  under  the  white  coverlet. 

"For  God's  sake,  calm  yourself,  dearest!"  Lechmere 
said,  coaxingly.  "We  will  talk  of  all  these  things 
when  you  are  better." 

"Ah,  lache,  lache,  Idche !"  she  shrieked  with  renewed 
violence,  raising  herself  as  she  spoke.  "She  is  your 
wife.  Que  je  suis  malheureuse !" 

"Calm  yourself,  madame!"  said  Petrina,  sternly, 
coming  forward  once  more  from  the  shadow  and  stand 
ing  beside  the  bed.  "I  am  not  his  wife." 

Lechmere,  who  was  kneeling,  sprang  to  his  feet. 
406 


Let    Not   Man    Put  Asunder 

The  woman,  appeased  as  suddenly  as  she  had  been 
angered,  sank  back  upon  the  pillows. 

"And  who,  then,  is  his  wife?"  she  asked,  tranquilly. 

"  You/'  said  Petrina,  scornfully,  and  again  turned 
away. 

Felicia  laughed  lightly. 

"  C'est  ga,  Dick.  I  am  your  wife.  I  have  come  back 
to  you,  after  all.  I  shall  never  leave  you  any  more. 
You  will  take  a  theatre  for  me,  n'est-ce  pas?  and  we  shall 
show  the  critics,  ces  sacres  cochons,  whether  or  not  I  am 
a  great  prima  donna/' 

She  laughed  again,  and  presently  began  to  sing.  It 
was  a  snatch  of  Ophelia's  air  from  the  mad  scene  in 
"Hamlet."  The  voice  was  true,  but  the  notes  came 
out  faintly,  as  though  all  strength  were  gone. 

"  Pale  et  blonde  dort  sous  1'eau  profonde 
La  Willis  au  regard  de  feu." 

Petrina  and  Lechmere  listened  breathless.  There 
was  something  weird  in  the  plaintive  Danish  air  sung 
by  a  woman  who  seemed  dying.  "La-la,  la-la-la-la!" 
Felicia  went  on,  and  ended  with  Ophelia's  pretty,  mind 
less  laugh. 

She  had  just  ceased  when  the  doctor  was  announced. 
Petrina  left  the  room,  and,  going  into  the  large,  square 
hall,  threw  herself  wearily  into  an  arm-chair.  She  felt 
indifferent  to  everything.  She  would  spend  the  night 
under  Lechmere's  roof — there  was  no  help  for  that  now 
— but  in  the  morning  she  would  escape.  Her  whole 
soul  revolted  against  him.  She  had  clung  to  such  pro 
tection  as  his  name  could  give  her ;  but,  after  what  had 
occurred  to-night,  her  one  desire  was  to  be  gone.  She 
was  forming  no  plans;  she  was  only  waiting  for  the 
daylight  in  order  to  go  forth  again,  alone  but  free. 

407 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

And  yet  she  began  to  be  aware  of  a  possible  consola 
tion  that  might  be  open  to  her.  If  she  needed  a  friend, 
she  knew  there  was  one  who  would  stand  by  her  and 
nurse  her  beaten  spirit  back  to  health  again.  It  was 
not  Vassall,  but  his  mother.  The  two  were  connected 
in  her  mind,  but  it  was  the  woman's  tenderness  she 
needed  now,  rather  than  the  man's.  And  yet  Vassall 
himself  was  there.  It  was  something  to  know  that, 
even  if  she  never  did  anything  but  lie  down  once  at 
his  feet  and  ask  for  pardon. 

She  was  still  pondering  these  things  listlessly  when 
Lechmere  came  forth  from  the  bedroom,  leaving  the 
doctor  and  Felicia  alone.  He  threw  himself  into  an 
other  arm-chair. 

"Well?"  Petrina  asked,  without  looking  up. 

"Bad." 

"What  does  the  doctor  say?" 

"Little  yet.  She  has  had  a  great  shock,  or  rather 
a  succession  of  shocks.  She  can't  hold  out.  I  know 
he  thinks  that  it  is  only  a  matter  of  hours." 

"You  have  at  least  the  comfort  of  having  her  under 
your  own  roof." 

"That's  something/ 

"Do  you  think,"  Petrina  asked,  with  an  effort,  "that 
it  would  have  been  different  had  I  allowed  her  to  come 
in  at  first?" 

She  would  not  shirk  this  question.  She  expected 
from  him  some  bitter  reproach,  but,  to  her  surprise, 
he  spoke  almost  apathetically. 

"I  don't  know;  perhaps;  but  she  was  spent  in  any 
case.  She  won't  stay  long  now." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Petrina,  gently.  He  made  no  re 
sponse  to  this,  and  she  went  on. 

"I  think  I  ought  to  explain  to  you  why  I  acted 
so." 

408 


Let   Not   Man   Put    Asunder 

She  waited  for  him  to  make  some  remark,  but,  as  he 
remained  silent,  she  continued  again. 

"  When  I  married  you — or,  rather,  when  we  took  the 
step  which  we  tried  to  think  was  marriage — " 

He  nodded  approval  of  the  phrase. 

" — I  did  so  for  the  reasons  which  you  yourself  put 
before  me.  You  knew  I  was  unhappy,  and  you  offered 
me  protection.  For  that  I  was  grateful.  I  supposed 
that  you  were  free  to  give  what  I  was  free  to  accept." 

"And  we  both  found  ourselves  mistaken." 

"Yes;  I  saw  that  very  soon." 

"  It  was  my  fault.  I  should  have  known  better.  No 
marriage  was  possible  between  us.  I  led  you  astray. 
I  made  you  think  that  you  could  become  my  wife,  when 
you  were,  and  are,  another  man's.  I  said  I  could  be 
come  your  husband,  when  all  the  while  I  was,  and 
always  must  be,  hers.  I  have  no  excuse  to  offer  for 
myself,  unless  it  is  to  say  that  I  was  under  a  delusion." 

"That  isn't  quite  the  point  about  which  I  want  to 
speak,"  Petrina  said,  with  dignity.  "I  understand 
what  you  mean,  and,  if  there  is  any  blame  for  what  we 
have  done,  I  wish  to  share  it.  But  at  present  I  want 
to  say  only  this.  Your  protection  was  very  dear  to  me. 
Possibly  I  put  too  high  a  value  on  it.  I  even  brought 
myself  to  think  that  I  couldn't  live  without  it.  I  thought 
so  right  up  to  this  evening,  and  when  your — your  wife 
came,  I  knew  she  would  take  you  from  me.  The  in 
stinct  to  send  her  away  was  only  that  by  which  a  man 
kills  another  rather  than  be  slain  himself.  I  was  wrong ; 
I  am  sorry.  That  is  why  I  went  after  her  and  tried  to 
bring  her  back.  I  wasn't  successful,  and  I  can  only 
ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

"It  doesn't  matter  now,"  Lechmere  answered,  in  a 
dull  tone,  as  though  the  subject  did  not  interest  him. 

Petrina  said  no  more.  It  was  useless  to  talk.  Un- 
409 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

der  the  circumstances,  words  were  futile,  for  there  was 
no  possible  explanation  on  either  side  which  would  not 
be  inadequate. 

They  sat  in  silence  till  the  doctor  came  out  of  the  bed 
room;  then  they  rose  and  went  to  meet  him,  eager  to 
hear  what  he  had  to  say. 

"I've  given  her  a  soothing  draught  for  the  moment," 
he  said,  "but  some  one  ought  to  be  with  her.  She's 
very  low,  though  she  may  live  through  the  night.  She 
seems  to  be  a  Frenchwoman." 

He  looked  with  a  questioning  expression  at  Lech- 
mere,  and  Petrina  thought  it  prudent  to  withdraw. 
Lechmere  might  tell  him  what  he  chose. 

"  I  will  go  in  and  stay  with  her,"  she  said.  "  Is  there 
anything  special  that  I  ought  to  do?" 

"Not  now,"  the  doctor  replied.  "I  hope  she  may 
sleep  till  I  return.  All  you  can  do  is  to  keep  her  as 
quiet  as  possible." 

But  that  was  not  easy.  When  Petrina  approached 
the  bed  Felicia  lay  with  closed  eyes;  but  a  feverish 
flush  had  come  over  her,  and  she  stirred  restlessly. 
Now  and  then  she  muttered  unintelligibly;  now  and 
then  she  moaned. 

The  room  was  hot,  and  Petrina,  sitting  down  by  the 
bedside,  took  a  fan  and  waved  it  gently  over  the  sleep 
ing  woman.  By-and-by  Lechmere  came  in.  Petrina 
looked  up  at  him,  but  there  was  nothing  in  his  face  be 
yond  an  expression  of  desperate  apathy.  One  might 
have  thought  that  he  did  not  care.  Petrina  offered  to 
yield  him  her  place  by  the  bed,  but  he  shook  his  head, 
and,  softly  taking  another  chair,  sat  down  beside  her. 
They  could  not  speak.  They  could  scarcely  think. 
All  future  consideration  must  be  deferred  until  the  poor, 
vapid  soul  of  the  woman  on  the  bed  had  slipped  from 
its  feeble  body. 

410 


Let   Not    Man    Put  Asunder 

When  they  brought  Felicia  in  she  had  looked  worn- 
out  and  old.  Now,  as  she  lay  sleeping,  her  beautiful 
hair  waving  loosely  on  the  pillow,  and  fever  giving 
color  to  her  cheek,  something  of  her  lost  loveliness  re 
turned  to  her.  She  tossed  restlessly,  and  began  again 
to  mutter  incoherently.  Lechmere  bent  over  her  to 
catch  her  words. 

"  Oh,  les  critiques  I     Quels  sales  cochons !" 

That  was  all,  but  it  summed  up  the  whole  history  of 
her  fight  since  the  days  when  her  voice  began  to  fail. 
Lechmere  understood  this,  and  the  blood  surged  into 
his  dark  face.  Petrina  affected  to  hear  nothing,  and 
went  on  slowly  waving  the  fan.  By -and- by  Felicia 
spoke  again. 

"Les  hommes — les  hommes — saligauds — tons — tons  I" 

The  words  were  very  distinctly  spoken,  and  Petrina 
could  see  Lechmere  clinch  his  teeth  in  the  effort  to  keep 
his  self-command. 

"Saligauds  —  saligauds  —  tons  —  tons!"  Felicia  re 
peated,  and  then  for  a  while  lay  still. 

Lechmere  glanced  at  his  watch;  it  was  after  one 
o'clock. 

"Don't  you  want  to  lie  down?"  he  whispered  to  Pe 
trina,  but  she  shook  her  head.  Just  then  Felicia  woke. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  up  at  the  two  sitting 
at  her  bedside.  Her  expression  was  feverishly  bright. 
They  did  not  speak  to  her,  hoping  that  she  would  go  to 
sleep  again.  For  a  long  minute  she  looked  at  them 
steadily. 

"Eh  bien?"  she  said,  at  last.  " As-tu  assez  de  me 
regarder  comme  ga? — toi  et  ta  maitresse." 

At  the  last  word  Petrina  started  up;  but  she  con 
trolled  herself  and  resumed  her  place  in  silence.  It  was 
too  late  to  take  offence  now. 

Felicia  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  turned  her  head  away 
411 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

from  them,  beginning  to  sing  once  more.  Some  vague 
memory  of  "  Faust "  seemed  to  be  passing  through  her 
mind. 

"'Ahl  je  ris  de  me  voir 
Si  belle  en  ce  miroir.' " 

The  notes  fluttered  out  weakly  and  with  a  great  effort. 

"  And  they  would  take  that  r61e  away  from  me,"  she 
burst  out,  angrily,  turning  her  face  again  towards  Lech- 
mere.  "  Paillard — you  remember  ce  sale  Paillard,  don't 
you,  Dick? — he  would  not  let  me  sing  it  any  more.  He 
said  I  sang  out  of  tune — I,  the  great  Felicia  de  Prony, 
whom  princes  loved,  et  d'amour — d 'amour,  mon  cher 
Dick !  Je  crois  bien  quits  m'ont  aimee  d'amour,"  she 
laughed,  softly,  as  if  speaking  to  herself.  "  Ah,  that 
was  the  good  time,  before  I  was  ill!" 

"Won't  you  try  to  sleep  again,  dearest?"  Lechmere 
said,  tenderly.  But  she  paid  no  attention,  and  began 
to  sing  again — a  snatch  of  an  old  French  air  which 
had  been  one  of  Lechmere's  favorites  during  their  mar 
ried  days : 

" '  Plaisir  d'amour  ne  dure  qu'un  moment. 
Chagrin  d'amour  dure  toute  la  vie.' " 

But  she  broke  off  suddenly  and  sighed.  For  a  while 
she  lay  quite  still,  and  they  hoped  she  would  sleep,  but 
she  spoke  again. 

"You  didn't  know  I  was  in  America,  did  you,  Dick?" 

"Yes,  darling.     That  was  the  reason  I  came  here." 

"And  you  were  looking  for  me  in  Europe.     Jeanne 

Vignon,  who  used  to  be  at  the  Comedie,  told  me  so  when 

I  saw  her  in  San  Francisco.     She  said  she  had  seen 

you  in  Naples.    She  was  very  good  to  me,  and  helped 

me  to  get  back  to  New  York.     That  gave  me  courage 

412 


Let   Not    Man   Put   Asunder 

to  come  to  you  when  I  heard  you  were  here.  I  couldn't 
find  you  at  first.  They  sent  me  to  a  woman  named 
Vassall.  She  was  a  good  woman,  too.  Oh,  Dick,  I've 
had  a  hard  time,  as  you  say  in  English.  J'ai  beaucoup 
souffert — j'ai  beaucoup  souffert." 

"But  it's  all  over  now,  dearest." 

"I  hope  so,  Dick.  You  will  take  a  theatre  for  me 
and  buy  up  all  the  critics,  and  we  shall  show  the 
world  that  I  am  Felicia  de  Prony.  N'est-ce  pas,  Dick? 
N'est-ce  pas,  mon  cheri,  mon  vieux  tresor?" 

The  words  of  endearment,  so  rare  from  her  lips,  had 
on  Lechmere  all  their  old  effect.  He  slipped  from  the 
chair  to  his  knees,  and,  seizing  her  hand,  covered  it 
with  kisses.  Petrina  rose  and  stole  back  again  into 
the  shadow,  leaving  them  alone  together. 

For  a  long  while  she  sat  there,  catching  from  time  to 
time  their  whispers  and  the  half-delirious  snatches  of 
song. 

"Do  you  remember,  Dick,"  Felicia  asked,  with  a 
laugh  quite  light  and  rippling — "do  you  remember 
when  we  used  to  sing  '  Nuit  d'hymenee'  together, 
and  you  were  always  a  little  flat?  Ah,  that  was  the 
good  time,  the  good  time!  Let  me  see — I  was  with 
Chaillot  the  barytone  then,  wasn't  I?  Or  was  it  with — 
But  I  forget.  Qa  me  donne  mat  a  la  tete.  I  never  had 
a  good  memory  for  details.  '  Nuit  d'hymenee,  O  douce 
nuit  d'amour!'"  she  sang,  and  then  stopped  abruptly. 
"  Quelle  jolie  musique  I  Comme  c'est  beau  !  I  will  make 
my  rentree  as  Juliette;  it  shall  be  in  London,  not  New 
York  or  Paris.  'Nuit  d'hymenee'  she  sang  again, 
more  loudly  than  before,  'O  douce  nuit  d'amour!'" 
Once  more  she  stopped  and  broke  into  a  light  laugh. 
"  Ah,  c'est  beau,  c'est  beau  I  n'est-ce  pas,  mon  mari  aime, 
mon  Dick  adore.  Let  me  see.  Didn't  you  divorce  me 
once?  Yes,  yes,  I  think — and  for  so  little.  I  forget 

413 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

what  I  did,  but  it  wasn't  much.  Comme  tu  as  ete  me- 
chant,  mon  cher.  Mais  c'est  fini;  it  is  all  over  now, 
all  over  now,  all  over  now,  all — over — now." 

She  spoke  more  and  more  slowly,  and  grew  dazed. 
Then  her  head  sank  upon  her  shoulder,  and  she  seem 
ed  to  be  passing  into  unconsciousness.  Lechmere 
started  up  with  a  quick  exclamation,  and  Petrina  came 
forward. 

"What  is  it?"  he  whispered,  terrified.  "Is  she — dy 
ing?" 

"No,"  Petrina  answered,  firmly.  "She  will  come 
out  of  it,  I  think." 

She  bent  over  Felicia  and  raised  her.  Then  she 
moistened  the  woman's  lips  with  brandy  and  gently 
bathed  her  forehead  with  cologne.  Felicia  lay  still,  but 
breathed  heavily.  It  was  evident  that  a  great  change 
had  come. 

"Will  the  doctor  return  soon?"  Petrina  asked,  anx 
iously. 

"Not  before  six,  I  think.  He  had  to  go  to  Boston 
for  medicines  and  come  back." 

"I  don't  think  she  is  dying,"  Petrina  said,  to  en 
courage  him.  As  she  spoke  she  took  up  the  fan 
again  and  began  to  wave  it;  Felicia  breathed  more 
easily. 

"Is  it  unconsciousness  or  sleep?"  Lechmere  whis 
pered. 

"Sleep,  I  hope,"  she  returned. 

Then  more  than  an  hour  went  by  with  scarcely  a 
word  on  either  side.  Felicia  lay  very  quietly.  At  times 
she  breathed  heavily,  at  others  more  softly ;  there  were 
long,  fearful  pauses  when  she  did  not  breathe  at  all. 

About  three  o'clock  she  woke  with  a  start  and  a 
scream. 

"Dick!  Dick!"  she  called,  loudly. 
414 


Let   Not    Man    Put   Asunder 

"Yes,  yes,  dearest,  I  am  here,"  he  answered,  throw 
ing  his  arms  about  her. 

"I  am  a  Catholic  I"  she  shrieked,  wildly.  "Bring 
me  a  priest!  Bring  me  a  priest!  Oh,  quick,  quick! 
Bring  me  a  priest!  Je  meurs!  je  meurs!  I'm  dying. 
I've  been  a  bad  woman!  For  God's  sake,  bring  me  a 
priest!" 

"Yes,  at  once,"  said  Petrina,  speaking  to  her  in 
French.  "  Be  calm.  Do  not  excite  yourself.  The 
priest  will  come." 

She  left  the  room  hurriedly  and  sent  for  one  of  the 
men.  The  servants  had  been  ordered  not  to  go  to  bed, 
and  the  man  came  promptly.  She  bade  him  take  one 
of  the  sleighs  and  make  ready  to  go  to  town.  While 
he  was  coming  round  to  the  front  of  the  house  she  wrote 
two  brief  notes.  The  first  was  to  the  Paulist  Fathers, 
whose  mission  church  in  Brookline  was  the  nearest  to 
the  Meerstead.  It  begged  them  to  send  a  priest  with  all 
speed  to  minister  to  a  dying  Catholic  woman.  The 
second  was  to  Vassall,  and  contained  but  three  or  four 
lines : 

"  I  am  in  great  trouble.  Can  you  come  to  me  at  the  Meer 
stead  the  instant  you  receive  this?  PETRINA." 

"When  you  have  brought  the  priest,"  she  said  to 
the  man,  "  drive  directly  to  Cambridge  and  deliver  this. 
Wait  for  Mr.  Vassall  and  bring  him  back.  One  of  the 
other  men  will  take  the  Father  home." 

She  returned  to  the  sick-room,  and,  entering  softly, 
once  more  withdrew  into  the  dim  corner.  Neither  Lech- 
mere  nor  Felicia  seemed  to  notice  her  return.  They 
were  again  whispering  together,  but  Felicia's  tone  was 
changed.  The  slight  delirium  had  passed  away,  and 
she  was  able  to  take  account  of  her  condition. 

415 


Let    Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"Oh,  Dick,"  she  cried,  hoarsely,  clinging  to  him  with 
both  arms.  "Fm  afraid  I  I'm  afraid!  I've  been  a 
bad  woman.  I've  done  much  harm.  I  have  ruined 
people's  lives.  Now  I've  reached  the  end  of  all.  I  am 
like  Faust  when  Mephistopheles  comes  to  carry  him 
away.  All  the  wine  is  drunk ;  all  the  pleasure  is  sucked 
out.  There  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  go — go — go — 
where,  Dick,  where?  Oh,  Dick,  must  I  die?  Can't 
you  save  me?  Save  me!  do  save  me!  I  know  you 
can  if  you  only  will.  But  you  were  always  revenge 
ful.  You  divorced  me  because  I  went  off  with  the  Due 
de  Ruynes — just  for  three  days.  And  now  you  would 
let  me  die  because — because  of  all  the  rest.  Oh,  save 
me,  save  me,  save  me!  Don't  let  me  die!  I'm  afraid!" 

He  held  her  tightly  to  his  heart,  kissing  her  mouth, 
her  eyes,  her  hair,  but  unable  to  say  a  word  to  comfort 
her.  For  a  while  she  lay  silent,  her  head  pillowed  on 
his  shoulder. 

"Why  doesn't  the  priest  come?"  she  cried  at  last. 
"Has  that  woman  sent  for  him?" 

"Yes,"  Petrina  answered,  stepping  forward.  "Be 
patient,  madame.  He  will  soon  be  here." 

"  Have  you  a  rosary?"  Felicia  asked,  suddenly.  "  I've 
lost  mine,  my  pretty  ruby  one.  It  went  with  the  other 
things.  Ce  sale  Armenien  me  I'a  vole.  No,  I  sold  it — 
after  I  broke  down  at  La  Potiniere.  It  was  precisely 
Guy  de  Ruynes  who  gave  it  to  me,  after —  But  I  for 
get.  It  was  a  fancy  of  mine.  Oh,  if  I  had  a  rosary  I 
could  pray." 

"I  will  get  you  one,"  said  Petrina,  slipping  out  of 
the  room.  Presently  she  returned  with  it;  she  had 
borrowed  it  from  a  servant. 

Felicia  seized  it  eagerly  and  began  her  prayers  at 
once : 

'  'Ave  Maria,  gratia  plena,  Dominus  tecum;  benedicta 
416 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

tu  in  mulieribus  et  benedictus  fructus  ventris  tui,  Jesus. 
Sancta  Maria,  Mater  Dei,  or  a  pro  nobis  peccatoribus, 
nunc  et  in  hora  mortis  nostrae.  Amen.' ' 

She  repeated  the  words  rapidly  for  a  few  minutes, 
but  grew  tired. 

"You  say  it,  Dick/'  she  said,  wearily,  handing  him 
the  beads.  "  Say  it  for  me.  Le  bon  Dieu  will  under 
stand/' 

"I  can't,  dearest,"  he  stammered.  "I  don't  know 
how." 

"  C'est  mai,  c'est  vrai.  You  are  not  a  Catholic.  Be 
converted,  Dick.  Let  me  convert  you.  I  shall  have 
saved  a  soul,  after  all  those  which  I  have  ruined ;  and 
perhaps  it  will  be  laid  to  my  account.  Be  a  Catholic, 
Dick,  dear  Dick,  for  my  sake.  Let  us  go  into  the 
same  heaven.  If  I  go,  then  come  after  me.  Be  a 
Catholic." 

In  her  voice  there  was  that  caressing  tone  to  which 
he  could  refuse  nothing. 

"I  have  long  meant  to  become  one,"  he  answered, 
quietly.  "I  will  do  so  now." 

"And  when  the  priest  comes  he  will  baptize  you; 
n'est-ce  pas,  cher  tresor?" 

" Oui,  mon  adoree,  oui." 

"Who  knows?"  she  said,  in  another  tone.  "Per 
haps  that  will  make  me  well." 

It  was  five  when  the  priest  arrived.  Felicia  made 
her  confession  and  received  Extreme  Unction.  Lech- 
mere  and  Petrina  during  that  time  remained  in  the 
hall  outside  the  bedroom,  as  they  had  done  during  the 
doctor's  visit.  They  spoke  little  —  nothing  but  what 
was  necessary.  There  were  many  things  that  Petrina 
would  have  been  glad  to  say,  but  Lechmere  seemed  be 
yond  the  reach  of  her  words.  When  he  was  not  with 
Felicia  he  sank  into  stupor.  There  were  minutes 

417 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

when    Petrina    feared    that   his   mind   was   breaking 
down  beneath  the  strain. 

It  was  nearly  six  when  the  priest  opened  the  door 
and  they  were  allowed  to  enter  again.  They  went  all 
three  to  the  bedside,  where  Felicia  lay,  just  living.  A 
new  change  had  come  over  her;  she  was  going  fast. 

"You  will  be  baptized?"  she  said,  faintly,  looking  up 
at  Lechmere  with  the  dawning  of  a  smile. 

"Yes,  dearest." 

"Now?" 

"Now." 

A  look  of  satisfaction  came  over  her  face,  and  Lech- 
mere  turned  to  the  priest. 

"I  wish  to  become  a  Catholic,  sir,"  he  said,  gravely. 
"I  ask  you  to  baptize  me." 

The  priest  hesitated. 

"Without  preparation,  it  would  be  irregular." 

"My  preparation  has  been  made  long  ago.  This 
would  be  only  the  fulfilment  of  an  intention  I  have 
cherished  for  years.  As  you  see,  my  wife  is  dying. 
I  wish  to  be  baptized  in  her  presence  before  the  end." 

The  priest  was  a  young  man,  and  easily  overborne. 
After  a  few  questions  to  Lechmere  he  consented. 

"I  must  have  water,"  he  said,  turning  to  Petrina. 

"  I  will  bring  it,"  she  answered,  and  left  the  room. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  bearing  in  her  hands 
the  beautiful  golden  bowl.  She  herself  held  it  for  the 
priest's  convenience.  Lechmere  knelt  while  the  sanc 
tified  water  was  poured  three  times  upon  his  head. 

The  service  was  soon  over,  and  the  priest  withdrew. 

Petrina  accompanied  him  to  the  door  and  thanked 
him.  The  pale  winter  dawn  was  breaking. 

When  she  returned  to  the  bedroom  Lechmere  was 
still  kneeling;  Felicia  lay  motionless,  gazing  upward. 
Petrina  stood  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  hesitating  to 

418 


Let   Not  Man    Put    Asunder 

go  in.  All  at  once  Felicia  raised  herself.  She  lifted 
her  hands,  and  over  her  face  there  broke  a  smile  of  ex 
altation.  Then  she  began  to  sing — it  was  Margue 
rite's  last  prayer  in  prison,  more  familiar  to  the  dying 
actress  than  the  "Ave  Maria"  or  the  "Pater  Noster." 

"  '  Mon  Dieu,  protegez-moi  ! — Mon  Dieu,  je  vous  implore  !'  " 

Her  voice  was  weak  at  first,  and  then  burst  forth 
strongly. 

"  Anges  purs !  anges  radieux, 
Portez  mon  ame  au  sein  des  cieux! 
Dieu  juste,  a  toi  je  m'abandonne ! 
Dieu  bon,  je  suis  a  toi — pardonne!" 

She  fell  back  upon  the  pillows.  It  was  the  only  hymn 
of  triumph  to  which  her  poor,  half-heathen  spirit  could 
aspire. 

Lechmere  remained  kneeling.  Petrina  drew  back  and 
closed  the  door  softly.  There  was  no  sick  woman  to 
need  her  ministrations  now. 

She  staggered  wearily  to  one  of  the  arm-chairs  and 
threw  herself  into  it.  She  would  not  go  to  her  room, 
for  Lechmere  would  come  out  by-and-by  and  might 
need  her.  She  was  very  tired,  but  her  task  was  not 
finished  yet.  She  would  carry  it  through  to  the  end 
and  then — go.  Through  the  night  vague  plans  had 
been  maturing.  She  saw  dimly  what  she  meant  to  do. 

Just  now  she  was  too  tired  to  think  of  anything  clear 
ly.  She  could  only  sit  still  and  wait  for  her  last  words 
with  Lechmere. 

But  sne  was  not  to  have  them.  Suddenly  there  rang 
through  the  house  that  loud,  sharp  report  which  is  like 
no  other,  and  which  causes  the  heart  of  the  hearer  to 
stop  still. 

419 


Let   Not   Man    Put   Asunder 

Petrina  leaped  to  her  feet  with  an  awful  cry,  and  then 
sank  back  into  her  chair  again.  Up  the  stairway  there 
was  coming  breathlessly — Harry  Vassall. 

"Where?    Where?"  he  cried. 

She  could  only  point  to  the  bedroom.  He  rushed 
to  the  door  and  threw  it  open.  As  he  did  so,  a  faint 
cloud  of  smoke  rolled  out. 

Vassall  stood  on  the  threshold  and  looked  in.  Fe 
licia  was  lying  with  calm,  white,  upturned  face,  her 
fair  hair  waving  over  the  pillows.  By  the  bedside 
Lechmere  had  fallen,  with  his  cheek  resting  on  her 
hand.  The  weapon,  which  had  dropped  from  him, 
had  overturned  the  golden  bowl,  and  the  baptismal 
water  was  mingling  with  his  blood. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  doctor  came  and  went.  He  and  Vassall  did 
what  was  needful  in  the  chamber  of  death.  Petrina 
would  not  move  from  her  station  in  the  hall.  The 
women  begged  her  to  come  away,  to  lie  down,  to  take 
some  refreshment,  or  at  the  very  least  to  change  her 
dress.  But  she  could  not  drag  herself  from  the  spot. 
She  allowed  them  to  throw  a  shawl  over  her  shoulders, 
hiding  their  whiteness  and  the  icy  glimmer  of  the  dia 
monds;  but  that  was  all.  Vassall  was  within,  busy 
with  his  silent  task,  and  she  would  wait  for  him.  After 
the  first  shriek  of  terror  she  had  remained  calm.  So 
much  had  happened  in  so  brief  a  time  that  now,  it 
seemed  to  her,  she  could  bear  any  disaster  without 
breaking  down.  When  the  doctor  came  out  she  rose  and 
thanked  him  for  his  kindnesses ;  she  could  do  it  with 
out  effort ;  she  was  quite  herself.  When  he  left  she  sat 
down  again,  to  wait  for  Vassall. 

The  sun  was  high  when,  at  last,  he  opened  the  door. 
She  rose  as  he  advanced  towards  her.  During  the  few 
seconds  before  he  spoke  she  noticed  that  he  was  thinner 
and  more  gray  than  when  she  had  last  seen  him.  His 
expression,  always  ascetic,  had  grown  spiritualized 
through  suffering ;  while  the  marked  stoop  with  which 
he  walked  was  typical  of  the  man  who  is  no  longer 
thinking  much  of  this  world's  lighter  things. 

"All  is  ready  now,"  he  said,  with  gentle  gravity. 
He  stood  at  a  little  distance,  and  scarcely  lifted  his 
eyes  to  hers. 

421 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

"May  I  go  in?" 

"Do  you  think  you  can  bear  it?" 

"  I  ought  to  do  so.     It  will  be  easier  if  you  are  there. " 

He  led  the  way,  and  she  followed  him.  On  the  thresh 
old  he  stepped  aside  so  that  she  entered  first.  The  sight 
did  not  appal  her,  but  its  solemnity  was  overwhelming. 
The  daylight,  streaming  broadly  in,  turned  into  reality 
that  which,  in  the  lamplight  of  the  night's  vigil,  had 
passed  weirdly,  like  a  dream. 

Felicia  lay  almost  as  Petrina  had  last  seen  her ;  they 
had  placed  Lechmere  on  a  couch  beside  her  bed.  His 
face  was  quite  serene;  there  was  nothing  visible  that 
could  recall  the  awfulness  of  his  last  act. 

Petrina  moved  slowly  forward,  and  stood  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  of  her  last  night's  companions. 

What  she  felt  chiefly  was  the  peace  which  seemed  to 
have  descended  where  there  had  been  only  suffering 
and  sin.  Death  announced  his  presence  less  as  a  foe 
than  as  a  healer.  In  Lechmere's  face  the  expression 
was  not  of  sleep,  but  of  content.  Felicia  appeared  to 
have  grown  younger.  She  had  regained  in  death  that 
pale,  modest  loveliness  which  had  always  been  in  such 
strange  contrast  to  her  character. 

Petrina  stood  there  long — alone  and  silent.  She 
was  not  grieving;  she  was  not  meditating;  she  was 
only  letting  her  spirit  be  stamped  with  the  impressions 
it  was  always  to  bear  in  later  life.  After  a  time  she 
heard  Vassall  approach,  and  was  glad  to  have  him 
there;  she  rested  upon  his  presence,  but  her  thoughts 
were  with  those  who  had  gone  away.  A  half -hour 
passed,  and  still  they  stood  silent,  side  by  side. 

"  In  death  they  were  not  divided." 

It  was  Petrina  who  spoke  the  words.  She  uttered 
them  involuntarily,  but  the  sound  of  her  voice  brought 
them  both  back  to  themselves. 

422 


Let   Not  Man   Put   Asunder 

"In  death/'  said  Vassall,  quietly,  "many  are  united 
who  have  been  divided  in  life." 

She  turned  towards  him,  and,  for  the  first  time  since 
he  had  come  into  the  house,  their  eyes  met.  They  looked 
at  each  other  earnestly,  sadly,  and  without  conscious 
ness  of  self. 

"You  believe,"  she  asked,  at  last,  taking  her  eyes 
from  his  and  letting  them  wander  from  Felicia  to  Lech- 
mere  and  back  again,  "  you  believe  that  when  every 
thing  has  gone  wrong  in  this  life  it  is  possible  for  some 
thing  at  least  to  be  put  right  in  another?" 

Her  question  had  come  softly ;  his  answer  went  more 
softly  still. 

"  I  believe  in  a  Divine  Adjuster  of  all  human  errors, 
for  whom  eternity  is  as  time." 

"Could  you  teach  me  to  believe  that,  too?" 

"I  could  try." 

Again  they  stood  for  a  long  while  silent.  The  peace- 
fulness  of  the  two  who  were  dead  seemed  to  pass  into 
the  two  who  were  still  living. 

"Harry,"  said  Petrina,  at  last.  "Do  you  remember 
that  long  ago  I  told  you  I  did  not  believe  in  sin?  I  have 
come  to  know  better.  I  myself  have  sinned.  I  have 
sinned  against  you — against  him — against  her.  If 
there  is  this  Divine  Adjuster  of  whom  you  speak  I  have 
sinned  against  Him,  too.  I  want  to  work  out  my  for 
giveness.  I  don't  know  what  I  ought  to  do  or  how  I 
should  begin;  that  I  shall  learn  in  time.  But  to-day 
I  wish  only  to  tell  you  that  this  intention  will  hereafter 
rule  my  life.  And,  Harry,"  she  added,  turning  again  to 
look  him  in  the  eyes,  "  I  want  you  to  help  me.  I  don't  ask 
you  to  forgive  me.  Some  day  when  I  merit  it  I  know 
you  will  do  so.  I  don't  deserve  forgiveness  yet;  but  I 
am  going  to  try  to  earn  it." 

"  It  is  I  who  ought  to  speak  like  that,"  he  said,  hum- 

423 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

bly.    "  If  you  have  made  mistakes,  it  is  I  who  drove  you 
into  them." 

"  I  don't  say  you  are  right,  but  if  you  feel  so  I  have 
the  more  courage  in  asking  you  to  do  me  a  great 
favor." 

"Nothing  is  a  favor  that  you  could  ask." 
"Will  you  let  me  go  to  your  house  in  Cambridge? 
No,  no,"  she  added,  hastily,  as  she  saw  the  look  in  his 
face,  "not  as  you  wished  me  to  go  before,  not  as  its 
mistress — no,  Harry,  no — after  the  past  that  isn't  pos 
sible.  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  leave  it  and  go  to  mine 
— to  the  house  that  was  ours  in  Beacon  Street.  But 
let  me  stay  for  a  while  under  your  roof,  amid  your  sur 
roundings  and  with  your  mother.  I  want  to  be  near 
her.  I've  suffered  a  great  deal.  I've  been  scourged 
to  the  very  bone.  I  want  now  to  be  comforted  with 
another  woman's  sympathy.  You  will  be  near  me; 
I  shall  see  you  sometimes — often  perhaps;  but  I  want 
to  learn  from  her.  She  will  give  me  what  I  could  never 
get  from  any  one  else.  She  will  help  me,  teach  me, 
and  heal  me.  Oh,  Harry,  I've  been  a  wicked  woman ; 
but  I  mean  to  begin  all  over  again.  I  want  to  get  my 
first  lessons  from  the  source  whence  you  had  yours.  I 
shall  be  very  humble ;  I  shall  start  very  low  down ;  but 
some  day  I  may  rise.  I've  done  with  the  world.  I 
don't  care  for  it  any  more.  But  if — after  all  I've  suf 
fered — I  could  help  some  other  poor  woman  to  escape 
the  snares  into  which  I  have  fallen,  I  think  I  could  live 
for  that.  Your  mother  could  show  me  how.  She's 
been  so  good  to  me.  If  she  would  take  me — if  you 
would  let  me  go — if  I  could  learn  what  you  both  know 
— if  I  could  do  anything,  however  small,  for  some  one 
else — then  perhaps,  oh!  long  years  from  now,  I  might 
atone  for  being  here  to-day — for  ever  having  been  any 
where,  Harry,  except  with  you." 

424 


Let   Not   Man   Put   Asunder 

She  spoke  quite  calmly,  and  when  .she  ceased  her 
eyes  still  looked  into  his. 

"You  needn't  answer  me  now/'  she  added,  seeing 
that  he  said  nothing. 

"I  cannot  speak  for  shame,"  was  all  he  could  reply. 

Dropping  on  one  knee,  he  seized  the  hem  of  her  long 
black  robe  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  As  he  knelt,  she 
let  her  hand  rest  for  an  instant  on  his  head.  Before 
he  had  risen  she  turned  away  and  slowly  left  the  room. 

As  she  passed  into  the  hall,  a  small,  frail  figure  in 
black  came  with  outstretched  hands  towards  her. 

"I  couldn't  help  coming,  dear,"  Mrs.  Vassall  mur 
mured.  "Harry  told  me  you  were  in  trouble,  and  I 
knew  my  place  was  here." 

"Oh,  mother,  mother,  take  me  home!"  Petrina  cried 
and  clasped  the  trembling  little  woman  in  her  arms. 


THE  END 


American  Contemporary  Novels 

MARTIN    BROOK 

BY  MORGAN    BATES 

This  is  the  third  of  the  twelve  One-a-Month  American  Novels 

to  be  published  during  1901. 
« 

"  It  is  written  in  a  style  unknown  nowadays,  .  .  . 
with  an  impressive  power  revealed  at  each  crisis  of  the 
tale,  which  makes  the  pulses  stir  and  the  eye  glisten.  What 
a  book  for  the  opening  of  the  twentieth  century!" — Julian 
Hawthorne,  in  the  Journal,  New  York. 

"  A  very  striking  book,  and  one  that  I  am  quite  sure  will 
take  an  enviable  place  in  line  with  record-breakers.  It 
is  the  third  of  the  '  American  Novel  Series,'  and  is  entitled 
'  Martin  Brook.'  I  finished  it  at  one  sitting,  so  intense 
was  my  interest  in  it." — Buffalo  Commercial,  N.  Y. 

"  The  third  of  the  '  American  Novel  Series,'  '  Martin 
Brook,'  by  Morgan  Bates,  appeals  to  the  best  in  man  and 
woman,  and  is  a  credit  alike  to  author  and  publishers.  .  .  . 
'  Martin  Brook  '  is  indeed  an  American  novel,  and  of  the 
best  kind." — Philadelphia  Daily  Evening  Telegraph. 

"  One's  interest  is  caught  and  held  by  the  hero  from  the 

moment  of  his  first  appearance  in  its  pages.     .     .     .     There 

has  not  been  a  stronger  scene  [the  library  scene]  written  to 

revive  the  interest  of  jaded  novel  readers  for  many  a  day." 

— N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  The  story  is  told  in  a  vigorous  manner.and  is  certainly 
out  of  the  common  run  of  fiction  as  it  is  told  nowadays." 

— New  York  Sun. 
Comments  from  various  reviewers  ': 

"  One  of  the  most  refreshing  and  natural  of  novels." 
"  As  good  as  it  is  charming." 
"  A  story  of  depth,  color,  and  action." 
"  It  is  refreshing  to  light  upon  a  story  like  '  Martin 
Brook.'  " 

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American  Contemporary  Novels 

THE  SENTIMENTALISTS 

BY  ARTHUR  STANWOOD  PIER 

This  is  the  second  of  the  twelve  One-o-Month  American  Novels 
to  be  published  during  1901. 

"  A  novelist  who  sets  out  to  depict  a  character  like  Becky 
Sharp  is  likely  to  come  to  grief.  Hence  it  is  surprising  that 
Mr.  Pier  has  not  failed  in  portraying  the  social  exile,  Mrs. 
Kent.  The  novel  is  strong  and  clever." — Pittsburg  Com 
mercial-Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  very  clever  novel.  There  is  '  story  to  it ;  there 
is  apt  phrasing  and  clear  delineation  of  character  ;  there  is 
much  incisive  and  delightful  epigram." — Evening  Sun, 
New  York. 

"  If  the  cleverest  parts  of  this  work  had  been  entirely 
cut  out,  we  should  have  called  it  one  of  the  cleverest  novels 
of  the  season." — Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle. 

"  The  book  is  characterized  throughout  by  keen  analysis 
and  a  delightful  sense  of  humor." — Chicago  Tribune. 

Comments  from  various  reviewers  t 
"  Mrs.  Kent  is  distinctly  American.  * 
"  As  interesting  and  unique  as  Becky  Sharp." 
"  The  book  will  be  a  success." 
"  A  rattling  good  story." 

"  A  vivid  study  of  contemporary  social  life." 
"  One  of  the  cleverest  novels  of  the  season." 

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American  Contemporary  Novels 

A  VICTIM 
OF    CIRCUMSTANCES 

BY  GERALDINE  ANTHONY 

This  is  the  fourth  of  the  twelve  One-o-Month  American  Novels 
to  be  published  during  1901. 

"  It  plunges  the  reader  directly  into  the  social  whirl 
of  New  York,  and  the  hand  that  detains  one  there  all 
through  an  intensely  interesting  succession  of  functions, 
flirtations,  and  incidents,  ...  is  the  hand  of  one  who  has 
seen  something  whereof  she  writes." — New  York  World. 

"  There  is  more  than  one  thinly  disguised  portrait  in 
its  pages — so  we  are  told." — Mail  and  Express,  New 
York. 

"  Bobby  Floyd  is  probably  the  most  disagreeable  and 
wholly  exasperating  cad  ever  put  into  an  American  novel. 
.  .  .  There  is  love-making  all  through  the  book." — 
The  Times,  Washington,  D.  C. 

"  They  fall  in  love  amid  most  delightful  surroundings 
of  tennis,  boating,  and  driving." — Exchange. 

Comments  from  various  reviewers  C 
"  Devoid  of  problems  or  mental  complications." 
"  A  book  for  a  summer  day." 
"  Has  the  correct  New  York  social  atmosphere." 
"  Decidedly     a     fascinating     book     about     attractive 

people." 

"  Full  of  touch-and-go  conversation." 
"  They  all  revel  in  smart  talk  and  repartee." 

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American  .Contemporary  Novels 

EASTOVER  COURT  HOUSE 

BY  HENRY   BURNHAM    BOONE 
and   KENNETH    BROWN 

This  is  the  first  of  the  twelve  One-o-Month  American  Novels 
to  be  published  during  1901. 

"  If  each  of  the  novels  of  American  life  by  American 
authors  which  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers  project  for  the 
current  year  proves  as  good  as  '  Eastover  Court  House/ 
the  twelve  volumes  will  constitute  a  decided  addition  to 
American  fiction." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  Its  charm  lies  in  the  constant  succession  of  strongly 
drawn  pictures  of  life.  One  chapter  after  another  presents 
these  scenes,  as  sharply  outlined  and  deep  in  shadows  as 
an  artistic  photograph.  The  book  ...  is  absolutely 
fascinating." — Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

"  Set  in  the  midst  of  the  fox-hunting  and  cross-country 
regions,  there  is  the  hoof-beat  of  the  galloping  hunter  all 
through  the  story,  which  is  full  of  dry  humor  and  vivid 
pen-pictures  of  life." — Horse  Show  Monthly. 

"  The  horse  stories  are  the  best  since  David  Harum  s, 
and  quite  as  laughable  as  his." — Chester  Times. 

Comments  from  various  reviewers  : 
"  A  good  story  well  told." 
"  Strong  and  absorbing." 
"  Warm  with  life,  with  the  passions  and  emotions  .  . 

of  Virginia." 
v  Wholesome,  true  to  life." 

Post  &vo.  Cloth,  Ornamented.  $1.50 

HARPER    &•    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 


59453 


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